


Finding Home

by adelaide_rain



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Bethany Hawke/Isabela - Freeform, Coffee Shop, Crushes, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Holding Hands, London AU, M/M, Matchmaking, Minor Anders/Karl Thekla, Modern Era, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Anders/Hawke, Sexting, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 156,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke kind of has a crush on the new barista. A little one. Tiny in fact. Barely noticeable, apart from the embarrassing amount of time Hawke spends thinking about him. His name's Fenris. Smart and sharp, gorgeous and mysterious. Green eyes, white-blond hair, with fleeting smiles and white ink tattoos. Hawke's got it bad, and thank god he's got his friends to help him get a date, because he's not sure he could do it on his own. </p><p>A story about Hawke, about Fenris, about friends and damn fine coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hawke hates his morning commute. Really and truly hates it, especially in summer when the tourists are out in full force. He's surrounded on all sides by people with cameras around their necks staring in confusion at the tube map. At least he's tall enough to tower over most of them and get something like fresh air. 

He stares blankly at his reflection in the window, and his thoughts turn to coffee. Or rather, to the coffee shop near work. It's called Deep Roads because it's near the London Underground – Hawke's pretty sure that's the owner's idea of a joke. If you insist on being _specific_ about it, Hawke's thinking about the new barista. He's been there about five weeks now, and he's good at his job. He knew Hawke's usual after only serving him once, and he always picks out the best brownie for Hawke. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking, because Hawke kind of has a crush on him. A little one. Tiny in fact. Barely noticeable, apart from the embarrassing amount of time Hawke spends thinking about him. 

Fenris. It's a nice name. Attached to a nice man, with fleeting smiles that make him feel proud to have summoned them. He's smart, and funny, and - well, he's handsome. _Really_ handsome. Brown skin, hair so white-blond it _must_ be bleached, and his eyes- They're green, but that doesn't do them justice. Emerald's a bit bright. Teal's too blue. Hmm. 

Hawke bites his lip and thinks about Fenris's eyes. It's a thing he does a lot. Forest green! Yes, green like the woods, and Hawke could get lost in them.

 _Pathetic,_ he tells himself, but no-one else has to know. No-one else will ever know, because he's _trying_ to be a grown up. Seriously, he's thirty, he works for the _mayor:_ he is officially an adult. Apart from the fact that adults don't have huge, enormous crushes on cute baristas.

Hawke sighs. 

Finally they pull into Tower Gateway station and Hawke weaves his way through the battalion of tourists to get off the train and up to the surface. He squints in the sunlight, and wishes he wasn't wearing a suit. It's way too warm for this many layers.

It was a mistake to think about Fenris, because now he can't _stop_ thinking about him. He has this habit of loitering in Hawke's thoughts. He's slender, half a foot shorter than Hawke, maybe more, and he has these tattoos-

A car horn from an impatient motorist yanks Hawke out of his daydream and he glares at the retreating rear end of an Audi A6.

For a moment he manages to think about the day ahead - Mayor Dumar has some meetings that he's asked Hawke to sit in on, and he has a telephone meeting with Superintendent Vallen at 3pm. He needs to type up the minutes from last week's meeting with Orsino and Meredith (ugh), and that email that Sebastian sent last week really needs replying to. 

But then Hawke's standing outside the coffee shop and all thoughts of work vanish from his mind. He can see Fenris through the window, serving a man in a £2000 suit without smiling, looking broody and intense. And gorgeous. That too. 

When Hawke steps inside, Fenris glances up and when he sees Hawke he smiles, ever so slightly. Hawke's own lips form themselves into an embarrassing grin filled with about ten different kinds of desperation. Fenris is handing the customer his change, so if Hawke is very lucky, he didn't see it.

"Good morning, Hawke," Fenris says after expensive-suit guy is gone, and this time that's definitely a smile. "Three shot hazelnut latte?"

"You know me so well," Hawke says with a chuckle.

"I don't know; I think I could stand to know you a little better," Fenris says, but then he's turned to the coffee machine, leaving Hawke to think _Did that really just happen? Was that flirting? Did Fenris really just flirt with me?_

"Oh, hello, Hawke!" That's Merrill, Fenris's fellow barista. She's adorable, if a bit odd sometimes, but that only adds to her charm. She gives him a warm smile and saunters over to take the order of the man behind him. She's usually pretty chatty, but about ten people have followed Hawke into the shop so she's all business. As is Fenris, once he's noticed the queue and frowned at it.

It means that there's no time for more (possible) flirting, even if Hawke had managed to think of a damn thing to say. Instead he just pays and leaves, sighing deeply at himself on the way out.

Even if Fenris _did_ flirt with him, does he really want to go there?

He thinks of Fenris's slender waist and then coughs.

Hmm.

Walking over the bridge, he sees City Hall, flashing in the sun on the other side of the Thames. The Mayor's office - very big, very fancy. All glass, like a squashed sphere. It's a nice place to work, if a bit hectic occasionally. Most of the time, in fact. He steps inside and breathes a sigh of relief at the air conditioning.

The day goes pretty quickly. Hawke's not particularly a huge fan of meetings, but somehow he always seems to get roped into them. The thing is, the mayor thinks people _listen_ to Hawke, but Hawke thinks that these people don't listen to anyone. But if he can be a part of improving this city, he'll do what he can.

By the afternoon, Hawke's more convinced than ever that no-one listens to him.

The phone call with Superintendent Vallen - Aveline - is more complaining about work than doing work, but she chuckles and lets him rant.

"I know, Hawke. I get exactly the same thing. It's the price you pay for being a politician."

“But I'm _not_ a politician! I just keep getting roped into things.”

“Poor Hawke,” she says, and sounds like she actually means it.

Finally Hawke finishes his last meeting of the day. He goes back to his office and is waylaid by Bran, the deputy mayor, wanting to go over some things with him for yet more meetings tomorrow. Hawke looks longingly at the door, but lets himself be led to Bran's office for what turns out to be two very long, very dull hours. 

When he's finally dismissed, he grabs his bag and leaves at a trot before anyone else can stop him. His shoulders are tight, in that way they always are when he's spent most of the day pissed off.

He considers texting Isabela and suggesting they go to the pub, but decides against it. Alcohol would just make him even more likely to complain. Instead he goes over to Deep Roads, and is startled to see Fenris. Not behind the counter - his shift must have finished hours ago - but tucked into a corner table, reading. He orders a chai latte and considers whether or not to go over to Fenris. Would it be rude? Overeager? Obnoxious?

Probably.

Yet Hawke can't help himself.

"Hi," he says as he approaches Fenris. He glances up from his book, frowning at being interrupted, but it seems to melt a little when he sees it's Hawke.

"More coffee?" Fenris asks with a glance at the cup in Hawke's hand, and he shakes his head.

"Ah, no. Chai."

"Hmm, so you do order more than one drink."

"Only after hours. Too much caffeine makes me jittery. So you - hang out here?"

Fenris smirks. "Hardly. There are some roadworks outside my flat, and the noise is awful. I thought I'd wait here until they're done for the day, since I get free drinks," Fenris says, and checks his phone. "Although they should be done now." 

“Oh! Are you heading to the station? I'll walk with you. If you want. Um. Make sure you get there safely.”

“But it's only across the road.”

Hawke nods, very seriously. “Road safety is very important, Fenris.”

Fenris laughs – god, he has a nice laugh, and Hawke swallows, thinking how much he'd like to hear it again. “Very true. Alright.” He stows his book in his bag, and stands. 

They head outside and every possible subject of discussion leaves Hawke's thoughts.

"Did you have a good day?" Fenris asks, a little stilted, and Hawke nods.

"Yes. Well. Sort of. A lot of meetings." Brilliant. Interesting _and_ charming.

"Where is it that you work?"

"City Hall," Hawke says, pointing in the general direction, and both of Fenris's eyebrows raise. "Oh, it's not as exciting as it sounds. I work with the mayor, but all that means is that I get to listen to a lot of complaints, and a lot of people pretend to listen to me. That's pretty much the whole job description."

"It sounds like there's more overlap in our work that I would have expected." 

They enter the station and pass through the barriers. It turns out they're heading the same way, but only for one stop before Fenris has to change lines. 

“Oh! We're train buddies,” Hawke says, and instantly regrets it. _Train buddies!?_ Fenris smiles, in a way that suggests he's trying very hard not to laugh. Hawke appreciates the effort. He can't even mind too much, not when Fenris looks adorable like that. 

They talk about normal things as they stand on the platform, and during their brief shared journey. Once Hawke stops embarrassing himself, they have one of those easy, natural conversations that make time fly, and Hawke's startled when the train comes to a stop and Fenris hits the button to open the door. 

“I'll see you tomorrow, Hawke,” Fenris says, giving Hawke a smile and lifting his hand to wave. “It was nice to have you as my _train buddy.”_

“We should do it again sometime,” Hawke says as he steps onto the platform, and Fenris nods. 

“It's a date,” he says, and as the doors shut, and it's worrying how pleased it makes Hawke to hear Fenris say those words directed at him. 

He smiles the rest of the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're interested, [this is where Hawke works.](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/124283690005/ive-been-doing-some-research-for-my-fenhawke)
> 
> I also could _not_ think of a title for this fic, and in my desperation, I looked at the quest names for DA2. It was either this or Kind of Want. Either would be suitable tbh xD


	2. Chapter 2

The next two weeks are hellish. Seeing Fenris and drinking the incredible coffee he makes are the only things that keep Hawke going. 

He says as much to Isabela the next time he sees her. They're sitting in Hyde Park with a bottle of cheap wine and plastic champagne flutes, because they're classy like that. 

Isabela is lying on her back on a blue-and-white check scarf, wearing oversized sunglasses, a white vest top and denim shorts. It's September and not really warm enough for that outfit, but it's a sunny day and she insisted that she wanted to come sunbathing. She enlisted Hawke to be her bodyguard, and when she added in the wine and some cupcakes to sweeten the deal, he couldn't say no.

“Who's Fenris?” She asks, glancing at him.

“The barista. He's very good. He does foam art and everything.”

“Is he cute?”

Hawke doesn't answer right away. That's his fatal mistake. 

Isabela sits upright immediately and almost knocks her wine over. Fortunately, when it comes to alcohol she has a sixth sense; she catches the glass just as it's toppling over. She sips it and grins at him. 

“You think he's cute!”

“I – He's good looking,” Hawke says, knowing that if he denies it Isabela will wear him down. “That's just an objective fact, though.”

“Hmm,” she says, and finishes her glass, refills it and tops Hawke's up. “Well, you know I'm a sucker for objectively good looking people. So if I went into this coffee shop and started chatting him up, you wouldn't mind?”

Another pause. Hawke might even frown this time. “I would prefer it if you didn't.”

Isabela shrieks in glee, and throws her arms around his neck. Hawke's pretty sure this is not her first bottle of wine. “Oho! Our dear Hawke has a crush! Does Aveline know?”

“No, and you're not going to tell her.”

“Come on, Hawke. You know me.”

“Yes, so I know you _are_ going to tell her.” He sighs, and rubs his eyes. It's been a long time since he liked someone. Like-liked. He's slept with a few people here and there, but he's not been in a bona fide relationship for two years. Of course, he's not sure that he wants to be in a bona fide relationship with Fenris, either, but he'd maybe like to give it a shot. 

Or at least sleep with him. 

“Is that so bad, Hawke? Having companions that support and encourage you?”

“It depends on the type on encouragement. Remember Sebastian, Isabela? Remember him?”

“Fondly,” she says with a wicked grin. It's a depressing story: Hawke had a crush on Sebastian, Isabela locked the two of them in a broom cupboard together (Hawke still isn't sure exactly how), and during that time Sebastian told Hawke that a) he's straight and b) he's ordained. 

Which is fits in pretty well with Hawke's non-existent love life, if he's honest.

“Is he interested in men, at least?” Isabela asks, no doubt thinking along the same unfortunate lines. 

“I've no idea.” Hawke picks up a cupcake and hands Isabela the strawberry from the top. 

“Is it that fancy coffee place, the one where Merrill works?”

“Yes, but don't you dare ask her about him-” Isabela already has her phone out and evades Hawke's attempts to grab it from her. “How do you even have her number!?”

“I have my ways, kitten,” Isabela says, and – wait, Merrill and Isabela? Really? Hawke can't imagine the sweet, slightly odd Merrill with Isabela, who is just – Isabela. “Not like _that_ , Hawke. Although she is cute.” She taps her screen with an air of finality and then grabs the cupcake from Hawke, handing him back his strawberry. 

“Do I even want to know what you sent?”

“How about we just wait for the reply?”

Hawke sighs, and eats the strawberry. 

“How long's it been, anyway?” She asks, and gestures at his crotch. “Do you even remember how to use it? Do you want a refresher course? I'd be happy to give you one.”

“Seriously?” She cackles, and a dog-walking couple in matching brogues narrow their eyes at them. “It's been – six months. That guy with the curly hair, remember?”

“Wait – you said you only got as far as over-the-clothes fumbling with him. I vividly recall telling you that you're pathetic. Who was the last guy to make you come? With skin-to-skin contact?”

“Isabela!”

She pushes her sunglasses to her head and looks at him very, very seriously.

He swallows nervously. “I've been busy with work.”

“Who was it?”

“And I'm not _super_ into sex anyway, unless I really like someone-”

“It was Anders, wasn't it?”

Hawke blushes, and knows he's given the game away. 

“That was over a year ago, Hawke! A year!”

Anders is Hawke's upstairs neighbour. When Hawke moved in, they dated for a few months, but it quickly became clear that Hawke would always be a distant second to Anders's work. Since Anders is a doctor, Hawke guesses that's a good thing, but it didn't seem it at the time. They're still friends – and they've slept together since they broke up, but that's not something Isabela needs to know, ever. 

Isabela's phone buzzes, and she shrieks. “He's bi!”

“What!?”

“Your darling Fenris is bi! He went to Pride with Merrill.”

“...oh.”

“Not like that, Merrill was seeing Lyna then, remember? She sent me a picture. He's cute.”

“WHAT?” Hawke grabs for the phone again, and this time she lets him take it. Merrill and Lyna are standing to the side of the photo, their arms around each other's waists, draped in bi- and gay pride flags. Fenris is next to them, looking away slightly, wearing a grey t-shirt and black jeans, and he has a bi pride flag painted on his cheek. It looks glittery. Somehow Hawke doesn't think it was his idea – he doesn't seem like the type. Then again, Hawke barely knows him, other than occasional morning chats if it's not too busy, and rarer shared commutes. Which is a tragedy, really. 

As Hawke's looking at the picture, it buzzes and another message flashes up on the screen:

_**Merrill :*** (13:04)  
I just asked an he said he is single!!!!! hawke might be in luck :))))))_

Hawke glares up at Isabela, who laughs. 

“Tell me what I've done now, Hawke.” He thrusts the phone at her, and when she reads the message she laughs loudly. “It's always good to have someone on the inside, Hawke. I know _you_ want to be the one on the inside but-”

“Nope!” Hawke says, and drinks the rest of his wine in one go. He reaches for the shopping bag and finds a second bottle of the same terrible wine. God knows he needs it. “Do not go there!”

“I can't say I don't want to go there – he _is_ cute – but you got first dibs.”

“You can't call dibs on a person. That's just weird.”

“So you're saying it's okay if I _pursue_ him?” He glowers, and she pats his knee. “I wouldn't do that to you, Hawkey. He wouldn't be able to resist me if I did, and then you'd be lost. I bet you would even cry, and I would feel so guilty. But you have to ask him out soon, or I might change my mind.”

“What happened to dibs?”

“You snooze, you lose.” 

Hawke sighs. Maybe an ultimatum is just what he needs. 

_I can do this,_ he decides. _I can ask him out. No big deal._

Oh god. What if he says no?

“What if he says no?”

“Seriously?” Isabela rolls her eyes. _”Look_ at you, Hawke. You're gorgeous. I'd do you.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“And don't worry about what will happen if he says no. Instead, think about what if he says _yes.”_

She's got a good point. 

Alright.

He can do this.


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks later, and he's still not asked Fenris out. 

But it's _hard_. 

Asking him out, that is. Not Hawke. Although he is, sometimes. When he thinks about Fenris.

_Anyway._

Work's still busy. The mayor's gotten his son in to help Hawke as an assistant. Saemus is a good kid – he's eighteen, taking a year out before starting university. Since he helped out in the office the summer before, Hawke knows him fairly well. Saemus is interested in social justice and environmental issues, and goes to a lot of protests - Hawke had to go and rescue him from one last year when things with the police got out of hand. The mayor, of course, isn't particularly happy about his son's activism, but Saemus was never going to follow in his father's footsteps. 

Now he's talking about how he knows a member of the Qunari, one of the gangs Hawke deals with in his work with the police. Hawke's not entirely sure how how they met, but Saemus seems to have something of a crush. 

“Ashaad said that the Qunari have a very strict moral code,” Saemus says. He's sitting at a desk just outside Hawke's office, and Hawke's left the door open so that they can talk. “They're not like other gangs.”

Which is, Hawke supposes, true enough. The Qunari are definitely not like other gangs. If anything, they're more like a religion, or a cult. Aveline knows more about them than he does – they're her biggest headache right now – but he knows enough to be wary of them. 

Even if a significant number of them are six foot plus, extremely built, and ruggedly handsome. 

Although, from what Hawke knows about Saemus, it really _is_ their strange pseudo-philosophy that he's interested in. He half listens as Saemus talks, and wonders what they mayor would do if Saemus actually started dating Ashaad. He can't even wrap his mind around it. Surely – surely it wouldn't be good. Mayor Dumar loves his son, Hawke's sure of that, but he's a little _traditional._ Hawke's not entirely sure he'd be on board with Saemus being gay, never mind dating a gang member. Hawke's lips thin at the thought. 

“-and then Ashaad asked if I wanted to see him tonight, and I said yes.” Obviously Saemus moved onto more important things while Hawke was zoned out. 

“A date?” Hawke asks, and Saemus blushes. 

“I – I think so.” He looks away, and blushes even redder. More quietly, he adds, “I hope so.”

Hawke gazes at him. On the one hand, at least _someone_ around here has a date. But on the other, he's not entirely sure how good an idea it is for Saemus to date a possibly-dangerous gang member. 

“Here,” he says, scribbling his phone number down on a Post-It note and walking over to hand it to Saemus. “My number. If anything happens, call me.”

“He's an honourable man, Hawke,” Saemus says, bristling.

“I'm sure he is, but just in case, okay? Not just with Ashaad. Anything you can't talk to your dad about.”

Saemus looks down at the number, and then gets his phone out of his pocket to save it. “Thank you, Hawke. I appreciate it.”

Since Hawke has help now, he can have a decent lunch break for the first time in weeks. He decides to go to Deep Roads. Talking about dates with Saemus inspires Hawke to attempt to get a date of his own. Perhaps today will be the day. 

Probably not, but maybe.

Summer is finally giving way to autumn, and it's a little chilly. The weather forecast promised rain later, and Hawke puts his umbrella in his bag just in case.

It stays dry as he walks over the bridge, and he tries to think of ways to ask Fenris out. Is _Fancy grabbing a drink sometime_ too boring? Old fashioned? Hawke might – possibly - be able to manage that, but anything beyond that is out. He's not even going to consider pick up lines. How can anyone say those with a straight face?

He walks into Deep Roads, and joins the end of the queue. The people in front of him are blocking his view of the fridge, but he _thinks_ he sees one of his favourite falafel salads left. An actual lunch break, a falafel salad and another of Fenris's wonderful coffees. Today is a good day.

While he's waiting, his phone starts to vibrate. Isabela. 

“Hi,” he says, and she just laughs. 

“Hawke, I can see you! Looking so fancy in your suit.”

“What?” He looks around, not understanding, and then he sees her. She's sitting near the back, with Aveline, and there can only be one reason why they're here. “No! You're not here to-” He was about to say _spy on Fenris_ , but Fenris is about four feet away behind the counter, and Hawke does _not_ want him to overhear.

“Yes, Hawke,” Isabela says, and waves at him. “Get over here. I want to talk to you about how sexy he is.”

Hawke practically runs out of the queue, half afraid that Isabela is about to stand up and start shouting about Hawke's crush. It wouldn't be the first time. 

Both Isabela and Aveline smirk up at him from their seats, the remnants of a slice of carrot cake on a plate between them. 

“He's very handsome,” Aveline says, leaning to look around Hawke, and when he turns, he sees that Fenris is standing at the panini machine, in full view. He looks good, of course – Hawke's always been a fan of the way the apron ties wrap around his waist twice, showing off how slim he is. 

And then– Oh god, he's putting a panini on a plate and heading directly for them. 

Hawke looks away, very aware that his cheeks are burning. _Calm down,_ he wills himself, and while he doesn't manage it, he's been in enough fraught meetings that he's gotten good at pretending. 

“Brie and cranberry panini?” Fenris says, looking around, and while he doesn't shout his voice still manages to carry over the background noise. 

He has _such_ a nice voice. 

“Here!” Isabela calls, and gives him a flirtatious little wave. Hawke glares at her, and she smiles sweetly up at him. 

Fenris looks over, and his eyes widen at the sight of Hawke. He hands Isabela her food, and then looks up at him. 

“Hello, Hawke. No coffee for you?”

“I got distracted by my friends,” Hawke says, nodding down at them. 

“We are very distracting,” Isabela says, handing Aveline half of her panini, and then looking up at Fenris. She looks pointedly at his namebadge. “Oh! So _you're_ Fenris. Hawke's told us all about you," Isabela says, and Fenris raises an eyebrow.

"He has?"

"About how good your coffee is," Aveline says smoothly, and Hawke gives a sigh of relief. "And I must say, he's right. You're very talented."

"Ah - thank you."

"But there must be more to you than coffee," Isabela says, and cocks her head. "You look like an arty type, I think, with those tattoos."

Fenris's jaw clenches, just for a moment, but it passes so swiftly that Hawke's not sure that he didn't imagine it. "I do a bit of writing."

"Oh? Then you need to meet our friend!" Isabela says. "He's a writer too. Maybe you've heard of him. Varric Tethras?"

Fenris's eyes widen. "You know Varric Tethras?"

It's not surprising that he's heard of him - the latest _Hard in Hightown_ novel lingers on the bestseller lists every year. But does he like them? Varric mostly writes summer blockbuster thrillers, a few romances, and the occasional true life story. Is that Fenris's sort of thing? 

Hawke _really_ needs to get to know him better. 

"Yes! I'm sure he'd be happy to give you some advice - about publishing, that sort of thing," Aveline says. "We usually meet in the pub on Fridays - the three of us and Varric. Why don't you come along?"

"That - sounds like it might be good," Fenris says, and Hawke can't believe it, he actually can't believe it. "I can't do this Friday - but maybe next week?"

"Of course! Just let Hawke know."

“I will.”

Tamlen - the other barista on duty - yells from behind the counter, and Fenris has to go back to work, but Isabela pats Hawke excitedly on the leg. 

“Did you hear that!? He's going to come out with us! That's almost a date!”

“That's wanting to meet a famous author,” Hawke corrects, but it's - something. A meeting outside of coffee shops and trains. He wonders if Fenris drinks, and if he does, what drunk Fenris is like. Drunk Hawke is a tactile oversharer, and he makes a pledge not to get drunk in front of Fenris, at least the first time. 

“Maybe he wants to meet up with a sexy lumbersexual,” she says with a wink, and after a moment Hawke realises she's talking about him, and rolls his eyes. “Promise me you'll wear one of your plaid shirts.”

Since Hawke owns an embarrassing amount of plaid shirts, it's not a hard promise to make. 

Now that he's wasted most of his lunch break with Isabela and Aveline, he's barely got time to grab a cheese sandwich - someone else snagged the last salad - and head back to the office for a fun afternoon of reading reports. 

By the time 5 o'clock arrives, he's shocked that nothing else has appeared on his desk – no urgent emails, no summons to someone's office. It looks like he'll be able to go home on time for once. 

Grabbing his bag, he leaves before anyone notices that Hawke's only worked nine hours today. 

It's raining heavily so there aren't many tourists about, which is something to be thankful for. Hawke puts his umbrella up and heads towards the station. As he approaches, he glances over at Deep Roads. Fenris is standing near the doorway under the awning, frowning out at the rain. He doesn't have a coat, and he's going to get _drenched_ in this downpour. 

Hawke crosses the road to him, and Fenris nods in greeting. 

“It seems we keep running into each other,” Fenris says. 

“Perhaps it's fate. After all, I have an umbrella, and it looks like you're in need of one. Fancy sharing?” Hawke asks, pointing unnecessarily at it. 

“I-” For a moment, Hawke thinks he's going to refuse, but then he glances out at the unabating rain, and nods. “Thank you, Hawke.”

They cross back over to the station, huddled under it, Fenris's arm pressed against his. Hawke's on the verge of suggesting they go out for a drink. Fenris smells like coffee and pastries, and he's so warm, and _oh god,_ his hair brushed against Hawke's cheek, he can't do this. 

Why is this so _difficult?_

The station is crowded, and the train even more so. Everyone's packed together, mostly suits at this time of day, though there are a fair number of tourists in plastic ponchos with the Tower of London printed on them. It's hot, and it's humid, and it's gross. Hawke wishes there was enough room to shrug off his jacket, but he'd probably end up elbowing someone in the ribs. 

Fenris is tucked into a corner near the door, and Hawke is sort of towering over him, trying to take up as little space as possible. Normally his size doesn't bother him, but being so close to Fenris makes him very aware of the difference between them, makes him a little self-conscious. 

Also? Kind of a bit of a turn on.

“I really need to start checking the weather forecasts,” Fenris says as the train hits the surface and the windows are instantly splattered with fat raindrops. 

“Do you live far from the station?”

“About a five minute walk. I think I'll have a warm bath when I get home.”

Hawke's mind hangs on the idea of a bathing Fenris for a moment – naked, wet hair, a crooked smile half-hidden in the steam, and the tattoos, oh god, all of his tattoos – before he manages to offer his folded-up umbrella. “Here, you need this more than I do. I live just across the road from the station.”

“I can't take your umbrella.”

“You can! Give it back to me tomorrow or something. Seriously, Fenris. I don't want you to get ill. Merrill can't make my latte as well as you can.”

Fenris barks a laugh and relents, taking the umbrella. “How altruistic of you.”

“I have to look after my favourite barista.”

Fenris's eyes – definitely forest green – widen, and then he looks aside. Is he blushing? He's definitely blushing. “Thank you. And you're my favourite three-shot hazelnut latte person.”

Oh my god. 

“That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me,” Hawke says as they pull into Shadwell. 

“Seriously?”

“I'm a very serious man, Fenris.”

Fenris laughs, and shakes his head. “I'll return the umbrella tomorrow. Thank you again.”

“Anytime.”

A last shared smile, and then Fenris steps off the train. 

As it happens, Hawke _doesn't_ live just across the road from the station, and he's literally soaked to the skin by the time he gets home. Inspired by Fenris, he has a hot bath and a glass of wine, and spends a long time thinking about wet white hair and tattoos.


	4. Chapter 4

Noise.

Harsh, loud, jarring Hawke from sleep.

_Wha-_

His phone, vibrating against the beside table. He picks it up, squinting at the name on the screen.

Saemus.

Saemus?

Mind racing with a hundred ideas of why Saemus might be calling at - bloody hell, 6am on a Saturday - none of them good, Hawke answers.

"Hello?"

"Hawke!" Saemus says his name in an exhale, and then gives a relieved laugh. "Thank god you picked up. I need your help."

Hawke's sitting up and rubbing his eyes, his heart beating hard. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Oh - yes! Yes, it's nothing like that. It's work related."

Hawke's adrenaline eases a notch. "Saemus - it's 6am. On a Saturday."

"I know, but it's important. And I didn't know who else to call." A beat of silence while Hawke's half-asleep mind tries to get into gear. "You're right. I shouldn't have called you."

"Just tell me what's happening,"

"It's - Ashaad's been telling me about this thing that the Arishok's been organising. It's big. We don't have any proof, but - I need your help with this, Hawke."

The Arishok's the leader of the Qunari, and he's been causing trouble for months. If this is something that can help them get him without any major bloodshed, they need to act.

"Alright. Are you at the office?"

"Yes. You'll help?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can. We'll talk about it and decide what to do."

"Thank you so much," Saemus says, and the relief in his voice is painful.

Still exhausted, Hawke dresses quickly in the half-light that creeps in around his curtains. Jeans and a t-shirt - he's not wearing a suit on a Saturday, he refuses. Opening the front door reveals a light drizzle and an early morning chill - why is he awake at this time, why - and he grabs a hoodie, hoping beyond hope that Deep Roads is open at this time at the weekend.

Even though he gets uncomfortably damp on the way to the train station, he snoozes most for most of the journey. At least there's no-one sitting next to him on the train. He's sure he'd have ended up leaning - and drooling - on them if there was.

He trudges up to the surface, fires a text to Aveline saying he might need her help, and then tries not to cry with joy when he sees that Deep Roads is indeed open. He needs a coffee fix, and Starbucks just won't cut it.

Stepping inside, he's ridiculously happy to see Fenris behind the counter. He looks tired, too, with dark smudges under his eyes. It's adorable. He's currently serving a very loud American couple, and he looks like he's thinking the same thing as Hawke - that it should be illegal to be that loud this early in the morning. They take so long that he shrugs off his damp hoodie and grabs a napkin to wipe vaguely at his wet arms. 

Finally they get their soy-hazelnut-mango-whipped-cream concoction, and Hawke steps up to the counter.

"What can I get you?" Fenris asks, and then blinks. _"Hawke?_ I didn't recognise you without the suit. You look - different."

Hawke looks down at himself, and for the first time realises what he's actually wearing. Blue jeans that cling to his thighs. A red t-shirt that _really_ clings to his chest, even more so because it's slightly wet. It makes him look like some kind of gym jockey who's about to start bragging about being able to lift 280 on the bench press. Which he _can_ do, but - yeah. So not his style.

Then again - Fenris is staring. Not in a disgusted way. In a distracted way. The way, in fact, that Hawke suspects he looks at Fenris.

How the tables have turned. 

"I've been called into work, but I refuse to wear a suit on Saturday," Hawke says, giving what he hopes is an easy smile. "Although possibly I shouldn't have dressed in the dark."

"No, you look good," Fenris says, and then coughs. Hawke smiles wider.

"Oh? Tell me more."

Fenris chuckles then, and some of the tension eases from his shoulders. "Another time, perhaps." He throws a look behind Hawke, and a queue has formed behind him. Hawke tries not to glare at them. But still - this is good. This is big. Actual flirting. Real flirting. So obvious that even Hawke can't mistake it.

"I'll hold you to that, Fenris."

Fenris makes Hawke's usual without even asking, and as he hands it over, he gives a slightly crooked smile. "Drinks are half price between 3 and 4 today," he says. "If you'll be done with work by then. I finish at 3:30 if you wanted to talk. Over coffee."

"Definitely," Hawke says immediately, and come hell or high water he _will_ be finished by 3:30. The man behind him tuts, so Hawke orders pastries as well, just so that he has to wait a little longer.

Saemus and Ashaad are waiting when Hawke arrives at City Hall, both of them looking nervous but they brighten a bit when Hawke reveals the pastries.

"I don't like doing this," Ashaad says. "I feel like I'm betraying the Arishok. But – what he's doing is wrong."

"Care to tell me what's going on?"

Ashaad sighs, and takes a bite of his apricot danish. "The Arishok has leaked information about a - new drug. A recipe for it."

"A drug?" Hawke's eyebrows raise. "I didn't know the Qunari were involved with drugs."

"We're not. Usually. He's leaked it to the Elvhen, so that they make the drug and get busted."

Hawke groans. This is not his area. Not at all.

Apart from that he's the police liaison, so it really is.

He sends another text to Aveline, and gets a reply that she's on her way.

Ashaad tells him what he knows, because he doesn't want bystanders to get hurt. The drug in question, as far as the Elvhen know, is the latest popular club drug. The recipe that the Arishok has leaked has a few extra ingredients that will cause paranoia and psychosis. The situation has all the signs of getting nasty, quickly.

And this, on a Saturday.

Aveline turns up an hour later. She makes a lot of notes, and her frown gets deeper and deeper. 

“Thank you, Ashaad. I appreciate the help; I know it must have been difficult for you to come forward,” she says, standing. “I have some calls to make. Hopefully we should be able to get this situation under control.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Hawke asks, but she shakes her head. 

“No, but thank you. I'll give you an update on Monday.”

He nods, but she's already out of the door, barking orders on her phone. Ashaad is still sitting, looking grave, and Saemus is by his side, holding his hand. Hawke stands and pauses. 

“I know Superintendent Vallen already said this, but thank you. You might have saved a lot of lives.”

Ashaad only nods; a man of few words. 

After checking that Saemus is alright, Hawke takes his leave. It's midday, and it's not worth going home to get some rest, not if he wants to meet Fenris at 3:30, which he most assuredly does. 

He's still worried about what Ashaad told them, but he trusts Aveline to take control. 

Still exhausted, he grabs some lunch at a pub with a wifi connection, and spends the next few hours wasting time on the internet. 

Before he leaves to go and meet Fenris, he goes to the bathroom and checks out his reflection. He finger-combs his hair into some semblance of tidy, but there's not much he can do about how tired he looks. And the clothes – well, he looks ridiculous, but Fenris seemed to like it, and that's good enough for him.

He heads back to Deep Roads, and finds Fenris at a booth near the back. He's reading the latest _Hard in Hightown_ book – brand new, with the big yellow 3-for-2 sticker still on the cover. With a smile, Hawke wonders if he's planning to get it signed. There are two mugs on the table, and when Fenris sees him approach, he looks a bit relieved.

“I wasn't sure if you were going to make it, but I got you a coffee anyway. Your usual.”

“Thank you,” Hawke says, very seriously. He is in dire need of caffeine and takes a grateful gulp. 

“I should've given you my number, so that you could've sent me a text to confirm.”

Hawke licks the foam off his upper lip. His mind is screaming _get his number get his number get his number_. “Why don't you give it to me now? It'll make it easier to organise Friday.” 

Wow. That was actually pretty cool. No flailing. No stuttering. Maybe Hawke should have four hours sleep more often. 

Fenris gives him his number, and Hawke sends him a text. They both have each other's name in their phones, and it doesn't quite feel real. 

“So was everything okay? With work?” Fenris asks, and Hawke nods. 

“Yes. At least, I hope so. It's sort of out of my hands now.” He shrugs apologetically. “Sorry I can't say more – it's confidential.”

“Of course.”

Hawke points at his book. “I see you're catching up on Varric's books.”

“Oh. Yes. I've read the others. Most of them. But I thought I should read the latest.”

“Enjoying it?”

Fenris bites his lip and looks aside, as if wondering whether or not to answer truthfully. “I – It's fun. Not really my type of book.”

“Not mine either, but you kind of have to read your friend's book, right? Personally, I prefer fantasy.” When he says that, he sees a grin spring to Fenris's face. The grin of someone who's just met a fellow nerd. _Oh thank god_.

They spend the next ten minutes chattering about the Hobbit book versus films, and it's all going startlingly well. Fenris, it seems, is just as much of a geek as he is. Hawke would never have guessed. Feeling optimistic, Hawke decides it's time to up the ante and shrugs off his hoodie. It's actually a little chilly in the shop, but it's worth it for the way Fenris's gaze snaps to Hawke's arms, and to see him swallow. 

It's nice, Hawke thinks, to be stared at like that by the man he has intense crush on. A little too nice, because he's starting to get hard. That's dangerous: any blood rushing away from his brain increases the likelihood of him saying something stupid. 

“I, uh,” Fenris starts. He's still looking at Hawke's arms. “Your tattoo.”

Automatically, Hawke looks down at it. He's had it for five years. A very specific pattern of red lines on his bicep, and he only fainted once while he was having it done. “Oh. Yes. It's from-”

 _“The Champion of Kirkwall._ I love that game. I might have had it done myself, but I don't have any room left.” He looks down at his arms; his sleeves pushed up to the elbow, revealing the graceful curves of his tattoos. Once more, Hawke wonders how far they go. “Besides, I – ah, don't have arms like yours. They look – good. The tattoo, I mean. Well – and your arms, too, but I'm sure you know that.” He gives an embarrassed little chuckle.

Hawke can't talk. He can barely breathe. Fenris likes fantasy. He likes _The Champion of Kirkwall_. He literally, actually, in real life, said that Hawke's arms look good. 

“It's always nice to be told,” he manages eventually, and wishes he hadn't. He sounds like a dick. “But yeah! _Champion!”_ He doesn't have anything to follow that up with, but he'd rather sound dumb than dickish. 

“You actually look a little like the main character,” Fenris says. He's looking away, now, his eyes mostly hidden by his hair.

“That might be one of the reasons I like it so much.”

Fenris looks up at him, just for a moment, and then looks away. “Who did you romance?”

Hawke stares at him, and now _he's_ blushing too. Because there's a very specific reason that Fenris might be asking that question. “The, uh. Elf. With white hair. Who kind of looks like you.”

“I did, too,” Fenris says, and takes a gulp of his coffee, which must be lukewarm by now. “A sort of player insert.” He pauses, taps the table, decidedly does not look up at Hawke. “Especially for the romance. I had a bit of a crush on the Champion.”

“I had a crush on the elf,” Hawke says, before he can stop himself. 

Their eyes meet – and they start laughing. Hard. They're very aware of how absolutely ridiculous this discussion is, how _embarrassing_ it is, but at least they both know it. And laughing with Fenris is fun. They keep looking up at each other and laughing harder, and even when they stop, they're just _grinning_ at each other. 

“I've not said anything quite that ridiculous in a long time,” Hawke says, chuckling. “And considering this is me we're talking about, that's quite a feat.”

“Not so very ridiculous,” Fenris says, and he's still smiling, and his eyes are bright, and Hawke wants to kiss him, a lot. “I take it as a compliment. I mean – I assume since you had a crush on him, you thought the elf was attractive.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hawke says without thinking, and forces a grin in place as though he's being charming or flirtatious instead of just unable to control his mouth. 

“Hmm,” Fenris says, smiling wider, but then his phone buzzes on the table. He glances down at it, and mutters _Shit_. 

“I'm really sorry, Hawke, but I have to go. I completely lost track of time. I'm meeting someone at five.”

“Oh. Okay.” He forces a smile. It means something, right? That Fenris was enjoying himself so much he forgot what time it was? But is he meeting someone, or is he _meeting_ someone? Merrill said he was single, but that doesn't mean he's not going on dates. “Is it another writer? Are you cheating on Varric before you've even met him?”

Fenris laughs and shakes his head, putting his things away. “No, nothing as interesting as that. Just a friend.” He looks up and smiles as he puts his bag on his shoulder. “I really wish I could stay. I enjoyed talking to you.”

“We can talk more on Friday,” Hawke says, and decides that he's going to practice being less embarrassing for then. “What do I owe you for the coffee?” 

“It's on me,” Fenris says, and fidgets with his bag strap. “I'm looking forward to Friday, Hawke.”

“Me too, Fenris,” Hawke says, and watches him go. 

That went well, sort of, in a weird way. On the one hand, _I had a crush on the elf_ happened. On the other, Fenris actually said, out loud, that he enjoyed talking to Hawke. 

“There was a lot of laughter there,” Merrill says, suddenly appearing at his side. It seems she's been spying on them, like a coffee ninja. She's beaming widely, and she's adorable, and Hawke can't be angry with her. 

“Seemed to be, yes.”

“Fenris doesn't laugh much. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever heard him _really_ laugh before. He must like you a lot - not that I can blame him. But you looked good, laughing together.”

Hawke looks at her, and she leans over to grab the empty cups from his table. “Are you going to tell Isabela about this, then?”

“Of course! And I'm going to send her the photos I took.”

“What!?”

She giggles and half-runs back to the counter as if she's afraid he's going to chase her. Hawke stares at her with a half-grin on his face. He takes his phone out of his pocket and sends her a text. 

_Can I have them too?_


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke normally heads to the Hanged Man straight from work, but since Fenris is going to be there, he's taken the afternoon off to get ready.

Yes, he is that pathetic.

He starts off by spending an hour in the gym. Since discovering that Fenris seems to like his muscles, he's rededicated himself to the cause. 

Afterwards, arms aching slightly, he goes home and has a bath filled with orange and patchouli bubbles. He trims his beard, and runs his thumb over the long scar at the bridge of his nose. Looking this way and that, he winks at his reflection.

"Nice," he tells himself, and his reflection grins back at him.

He checks his phone; three messages await him. One's from Fenris so of course he checks that one first.

 ** _Fenris_** _(16:03)  
Can definitely make it tonight. It's the hanged man in camden right?_

Hawke responds in the affirmative, and after a great deal of thought and even more courage, adds that he's looking forward to seeing him.

The other two are from Isabela. The first is a picture message - the one Merrill sent her from Pride. Hawke considers deleting it, for about half a second, and then saves it. If Fenris happens to see it, he'll just say Merrill sent it to him at the time. Definitely no creeping here, no sir.

The other message from Isabela says:

 ** _Isabela_** _(15:39)  
U better flirt with him._

 ** _Hawke_** _(16:32)  
But I'm so bad at it!_

He can practically see her rolling her eyes in response to that.

**_Isabela_ ** _(16:33)  
Do it anyway. He'll love you xx He's totally coming bc he wants to spend time w you. Trust me I have a FEELING_

Hawke decides not to question her further. She'll either start making dirty jokes or terribly unfunny non-jokes, and Hawke can't deal with either right now.

Instead he turns to his wardrobe and spends far too long choosing an outfit. Considering Fenris's apparent arm _thing_ , Hawke puts on his favourite red t-shirt that shows off his arms magnificently. In case Isabela's intuition about lumbersexuals is correct, he goes with a plaid shirt over the top, a gold-and-grey one that brings out his eyes. He pairs it with jeans that aren't too tight but that show off his legs nicely, and a battered pair of Docs.

He looks in the mirror, has a minor existential crisis, and leaves the flat before he can change his mind.

 _You've got this,_ he tells himself. He might have _something_ but he's not sure what.

Fifty minutes later he's stepping into the Hanged Man. 

Even though none of them live anywhere near Camden, they treat it as their local. It's relaxed, it's cheap, and the tourists never seem to find it. It's where they met Varric; when he moved to London he lived here, in one of the rooms upstairs – Hawke didn't even know it _had_ rooms before that. It was for a book – he wanted to get a real feel for a grimy old London pub, and he couldn't have done better than the Hanged Man. 

His description of it in the third _Hard in Hightown_ novel said it best:

_The floor was sticky and the whole place stank of stale ale. The only light sources were the dim bulbs in dirty lampshades, and that was probably for the best. The Hanged Man wasn't a place that did well under close scrutiny. Every table was scarred with the initials of the once-in-love, and the air was thick with chatter and the heavy bass of rock music._

It went on to describe a handsome, bearded giant with a heart of gold who helped the hero find the girl who'd been kidnapped. 

That's Hawke's greatest achievement: being a supporting character for three chapters of a Varric Tethras novel. 

He finds Varric in their usual booth, and he's the only one here so far. Nodding a greeting at Hawke, he says, "So, Isabela tells me you're after this guy who's coming tonight." 

“Of course she did,” Hawke says, sitting down with a sigh. 

“Hey, now, I need to be informed of these things.”

"Well," Hawke starts. "I don't know what to say. Yes, I like him. Aveline invited him here because he's a writer and she said he should meet you."

"Yeah, I got all that from Isabela. I'm just wondering whether I'm going to get inspiration for my next romance novel tonight."

"Only if you want your book to be incredibly awkward."

Varric laughs. "As if I'd expect anything else from you, Hawke."

Hawke sighs; Varric really does know him too well. "You're underestimating the depths of my awkwardness. You know what I said to him last week? _I had a crush on the elf._ "

Varric raises an eyebrow. "Kinky role play already?"

"I was talking about video games."

"Disappointing, but not unexpected. What was his reaction?"

"He laughed - _with_ me, not at me. He likes the game too. And we agreed that he looks like the elf."

"So," Varric says, grinning in a knowing, Varric way, "in a roundabout way you told him you like him?"

"In a very roundabout way, yes."

"Then there you go! Perfect romance novel material."

“Don't even think about it,” Hawke says and heads to the bar, but he's grinning a little, too. Fenris does know he likes him. And Fenris said that he had a crush on the Champion, so that means he likes Hawke.

If Isabela was here she'd say it was time to kiss him.

Hawke would really like to kiss him.

As he's waiting to be served, Isabela appears and pokes him in the side. 

“Get me and Aveline a drink,” she says, and looks around. “Loverboy isn't here yet, then?”

“Please don't call him that.”

She laughs and then steps back to look him up and down. “Not bad, Hawke. You could show a bit of cleavage, but other than that...”

“Cleavage? Really?” She reaches up to tug the neck of his t-shirt down, then scratches her nails through his chest hair. It feels nice, in a weird way. Having Fenris do it would be better.

Hawke blinks rapidly at the thought of Fenris doing that to him. 

“You should ask Varric about the allure of chest hair on a man - he has women swooning over him all the time. You could always take the t-shirt off and leave the shirt half unbuttoned.”

“Not happening.”

She shrugs. “Can't have everything,” and then pats his cheek before going to join the others. 

A few moments later there's a light touch on his arm, and Hawke's expecting Isabela again. He turns to ask what she wanted to drink, but it is not Isabela. It's Fenris, in a black shirt over a grey t-shirt, and tight jeans that make Hawke swallow. He's also got a grey beanie, which he pulls off and stuffs in his messenger bag. 

“Hello, Hawke.”

“Fenris! You look good! I mean – it's good to see you. Both, in fact.”

“The same could be said of you.”

“Thanks for coming,” Hawke says, and finally catches the attention of one of the bar staff. He gets beer for himself, Aveline and Isabela, and insists on buying Fenris a drink – he asks for red wine. 

“I was glad to spot you,” Fenris says as the drinks are being poured. “I hate wandering around places I don't know, trying to find people.”

“Luckily I'm easy to spot.” He tells Fenris about his _Hard in Hightown_ cameo, and Fenris chuckles. 

“A giant with a heart of gold? Yes, I can see that. I wonder if I'll ever be lucky enough to gain such fame as you.”

“You will – through your own novels.”

Fenris blinks, and then looks away, a half-smile on his lips. “I don't know about that. And you don't know anything about my writing. Or about me, for that matter.” 

He seems slightly uncomfortable. Nervous. Is it meeting Varric, maybe? Or just being with these people he doesn't know? Hawke hopes it's not because of him, and grasps for something to say that will put him at ease.

“I know that you like _Champion of Kirkwall._ I know that you make amazing coffee, and that I like talking to you. I know that you're-” Hawke was about to say _bi_. Things were going well, so it's clearly time for him to say something stupid. “-An elf lookalike,” he says quickly, and winces. Yes, that's that's _so_ much better.

But Fenris smirks, and takes the glass of wine and one of the beers over to the table. “Hopefully by the end of the evening we'll know each other a little better.”

Introductions are made, and Hawke and Fenris have one side of the booth to themselves. Varric asks about Fenris's book, and he looks aside as he replies, saying it's a fantasy, he's finished the first draft but he's a little afraid to look at it again. He's clearly still uncomfortable, and Hawke has a very strong urge to take his hand, one he only just manages to control. Varric tells a story about the ups and downs of writing his own first novel, and Hawke sees Fenris relax as wine and Varric's smooth voice do their thing. 

He stays quiet, though. He listens, and twirls the stem of his wine glass between his finger and thumb, and chuckles when Isabela tells them about Hawke's disastrous attempt at home brewing. Other than that, he doesn't smile much, though he does stay for another drink. 

Just after ten o'clock, he says he'd better go home, as he's opening Deep Roads in the morning. 

“I'll head off, too,” Hawke says, and Fenris nods. 

As they step outside, Hawke feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He's sure it'll be Isabela, and he does _not_ want Fenris to see whatever she's sent. 

They talk about little bits of nothing as they walk to the tube station and sit on the train. But as they approach King's Cross, where Fenris is changing lines, Hawke has to ask.

“Is everything okay?”

Fenris looks up at him, and nods. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“It's just, you seemed quiet tonight. And you were smiling less than usual. I was worried.”

Fenris smiles, then, just a small one. “I'm not very good at meeting new people, and I'm even worse at talking about my writing. But honestly, Hawke?” He looks fixedly down at his much-scuffed black Chucks. “You might have a skewed view, because you make me smile more than anyone else does.”

“I'm glad,” Hawke finds himself saying, which is putting it mildly. He feels like he's going to float away, his heart is so light. “I always want to make you smile.” 

Which is maybe a bit much, but after two pints Hawke is honest; and Fenris's smile widens, warms. The train pulls into the station and he moves to push himself up; but then he looks at Hawke, and there's a touch to his thigh - light, lingering - but then Fenris is standing. 

“Goodnight, Hawke.” 

“Goodnight, Fenris,” he says, and then he's gone, swallowed up by the crowd, leaving Hawke wondering what that touch meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely kudos and comments! The fic will now be updated more or less weekly - the more frequent updates were for fenhawke week over on tumblr. If you're interested, I also wrote a bunch of [Fenris and Hawke ficlets](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/tagged/3-sentence-fenhawke) on my blog.


	6. Chapter 6

“I think you prefer Fenris's lattes to mine,” Merrill says, handing Hawke his drink. Tuesday is Fenris's day off, so he gets a Merrill latte instead. 

“Never.”

Deep Roads is unusually quiet, so Tamlen is rearranging the pastries in the cabinet, and Merrill has a few moments to chat with Hawke. Her cheeks sparkle with a touch of glitter, and it makes Hawke think of the glittery bi flag that was painted on Fenris's cheek in the photo from Pride. 

Does anything _not_ make him think of Fenris? If Isabela – or Aveline, or Varric, or anyone that knows him, really – was here, they'd tell him he's got it bad. They might even say that he's pathetic. They might be right, too.

“I know you're lying. But it's okay,” Merrill says, and leans on the counter, resting on her elbows and playing with the friendship bracelets on her wrist. “He's been talking about you, you know.”

“Oh, has he?” Hawke tries to play it cool. From Merrill's laugh, he's not doing a very good job. 

“And he has these puppy eyes when he does,” she says, and does what Hawke supposes is an impression of it. If Fenris looks anywhere near as sweet she does, it's a good job he's not seen it. He'd probably swoon. 

“I feel like you shouldn't be saying things like that when he's not here to defend himself.”

“He's been talking about these Friday night dates he's been having with you. It was the third one last week, aren't you supposed to take him to bed after that?”

Hawke's taking a sip of his coffee when she says that, and he nearly chokes. “They're not _dates!_ There are other people there!”

“Then how come he only talks about you? He's said a few things about Varric, how he's helping him with his book, but it's nearly always _And then Hawke said_ and _Hawke did this_ and _Hawke looked so handsome_.”

“He did not.” Hawke looks at her. “Did he?”

“Not in so many words. But like I said: puppy eyes.”

“Come out this week, see for yourself. You've not been to the pub with us for a while.”

“I know,” she says, and fidgets with her apron ties. “After I broke up with Lyna, I didn't really feel going out, and then I was working on my projects. I've still not found a way to fix that mirror,” she sighs. “But you know, you're right! I should come out. Tamlen, do you want to come too?”

Tamlen stands up so fast he hits his head on the the inside of the display case. Merrill goes over to him and coos, patting his head, asking him if he's alright. He blushes red and stutters, and Hawke hides his smile with his coffee cup. 

“I better go, Merrill, but I hope you come. Both of you.”

“Have a nice day, Hawke!” She says as Hawke heads towards the door, and asks Tamlen if he'd like some ice for his head. 

When Hawke gets to the office, Aveline is already there. She has a thick file of papers in her hand, and she nods at Hawke in greeting. 

"I'm about to head off to a meeting with Bran," she says. "But I wanted to let you know that we've more or less got the situation under control with the Elvhen. We think we've seized most of the pills, and we've released warnings out in case any batches got out. If we're lucky, the danger is over, and that's entirely because of Ashaad."

Saemus beams. "I'm glad to hear it. Thank you again for helping me - both of you."

"How are thing going with Ashaad?" Asks Aveline. 

"Well," Saemus says. “Fine. Thank you. I, um. Need to go and photocopy-” He picks up a piece of paper at random from his desk. “-this.” He's probably attempting to sound casual, but he turns bright red and it rather gives the game away.

“Am I missing something?” Aveline asks, frowning after him and then turning to Hawke. “I just thought that if the Arishok found out he helped us, Ashaad might be in trouble.”

“Ah,” Hawke says and goes into his office, setting his coffee down on his desk. He opens the blinds and looks out at the river, drumming his fingers on the windowsill. As much as this is Saemus's business, it might be a good idea for Aveline to know; the more people who are watching out for Saemus, the better. “Saemus and Ashaad are – something of an item.” 

There are several beats of silence, and Hawke looks over his shoulder to see her staring at him, her mouth open. 

“The mayor's son and a-” She stops herself, shuts the door to Hawke's office and continues more quietly. “The mayor's son and a Qunari? Are you serious?”

Hawke sighs and shrugs, leaning back against the windowsill and folding his arms. “I don't know if _they're_ serious. But that's how Saemus knew – he was seeing Ashaad that night. A date.”

“I assumed they met on one of Saemus's protests.” She shakes her head. “Hawke, do you really think this is a good idea?”

Hawke spreads his hands. “It's not exactly up to me. He's eighteen now, and trust me, if you try and stop him from doing something, he'll do it all the more. Something the mayor doesn't seem able to grasp.”

“I assume Mayor Dumar doesn't know?”

“Not a clue.”

“This could be bad, Hawke.”

“I know. I've given Saemus my number and told him he can call me any time he needs to. Now you know, you can have your people watch out for him. But anything more than that will just make him stubborn. I have visions of him joining the Qunari, Aveline.”

She groans and rubs her forehead, as though the very thought has given her a headache. “That's the last thing we need. Alright, Hawke just – watch over him, alright?”

“I already am.”

“I hope this doesn't come back to haunt us,” she says, shaking her head as she leaves.

Hawke hopes so too.

===

"You've got a text," Isabela says from the living room as Hawke ladles out pasta. She's at his flat and they're about to watch a movie she's brought with her – it looks like softcore gay porn, but she insists it's a horror. Mostly, though, she's here to eat his food and get Fenris-related gossip. Besides, Hawke has the best sofa for movie-watching, a huge corner sofa that two people can lie down on easily, or three if they're feeling friendly. 

"Who from?"

"Anders. He says he's bored." She pops her head around the kitchen door. "He always has good booze, let's invite him down."

"Go ahead," Hawke says, grating parmesan like a pro. Anders does have good booze, or at least a wide variety of it. He collects bottles with cats on the label.

When he hears Isabela giggling to herself a moment later, he feels a pang of regret. He really should have sent that text himself. 

"What did you say to him?" Hawke says with a frown as he steps into the living room. She's sitting cross-legged on the sofa, and she grins widely at him as he hands her a bowl of pasta.

"Who, me?" Isabela asks, and a millisecond later there's a knock at the door.

Hawke opens it to a slightly breathless, come-to-bed eyed Anders, his hair down and slightly messy. It's rather appealing, but no; the part of Hawke that perks up at the image of Anders in his bed is quickly overwhelmed by thoughts of _but what if it was Fenris instead_. 

They've not even kissed yet and Hawke's already monogamous.

"Whatever Isabela said, I'm afraid all I can offer is pasta," he says. "It's good pasta though."

Anders sighs and hands him a bottle of Le Petit Chat red wine, accepting the food that was supposed to be Hawke's dinner in return. Hawke pours the wine into mismatched wine glasses, most of which were stolen from pubs, and spoons the leftover pasta into a bowl for himself. 

"I knew that text was too good to be true," Anders says when Hawke's doled out the drinks and settled onto the sofa next to him. 

"Sorry, Anders," Isabela says, already halfway through her food. "I shouldn't have teased. Hawke's got a boyfriend."

"What?!" Anders narrows his eyes at Hawke as he starts the movie. “Why was I not informed of this?”

“He's not my boyfriend.”

"But you _want_ him to be," Isabela purrs, and Hawke can't deny it, even if it means that Anders is going to be sulking all evening. 

“What did you send to Anders, anyway?” He asks, and reaches for his phone and checks the messages. 

_I want the D. Bring wine._

Hawke closes his eyes for a moment, genuinely pained, and then looks up at Anders. “You seriously thought that I used that phrase?”

“A man can dream, can't he?”

“I'm sure you have lots of dreams about Hawke,” Isabela laughs, and pokes Anders with her foot. “Share some with us.”

“Well, there's the one with hot wax-”

“He should _absolutely not_ share them with us! We're watching a movie!” Hawke says, and turns up the volume. The hot wax incident was _not_ in fact a dream, but it was a lesson about the importance of shaving chest hair before indulging in waxplay.

When the movie is over, they're on their fourth bottle of wine. All the good stuff's gone, and they're down to the terrible, forgotten bottle that Hawke found in one of the kitchen cupboards. 

The three of them are tangled together on the sofa; Anders is leaning against Hawke, back against his chest. While the movie was on, Hawke braided his hair, not very tidily. He got distracted by all the terrible acting and naked men having pretend sex with each other in the so-called horror movie. Isabela's legs are wrapped around Anders's. Even though Hawke has little interest in sleeping with Anders right now, they're just _familiar_ with each other. It's nice. Comfortable.

When Hawke's phone buzzes on the table, and Anders grabs it for him before Isabela can send more nefarious texts, he likes him even more. 

“Who's Fenris?” Anders asks, glancing at the screen before he hands it over.

“It's the boy he likes,” Isabela says. “A sexy barista. What does he say, Hawke? Is he talking about how desperately in love he is with you? Is it a dick pic? If it is, can I see it?”

“Isabela, really,” Hawke says. It's not a dick pic, although Hawke wouldn't exactly be against the idea. 

_**Fenris**_ _(23:01)  
Merrill tells me you prefer my lattes._

_**Hawke** _ _(23:02)  
You know I do! I said you were my favourite barista_

_**Fenris** _ _(23:02)  
I thought you were joking_

_**Hawke** _ _(23:02)  
100% serious x_

He hits send.

Then sees the little _x_ at the end of the sentence.

"Oh no." He didn't even think. He just _put_ it. Hawke lets the phone slide to the sofa and puts his head in his hands.

"This doesn't look good. What have you done now, kitten?" Isabela asks.

"I put a kiss at the end of the text."

"What?" Anders reaches between them to pick up the phone. He laughs as he scrolls through the conversation. "Oh dear lord. Is this your flirting? Were you this awkward when we started seeing each other? I don't remember you being quite this pathetic."

Isabela takes the phone off him and snorts at Hawke's text. "Oh, he was. He always manages to hide it from his boyfriends, somehow. They find him charming. All I can say is, he must be something special in bed."

"Isabela, you have no idea," Anders says in a sultry voice. "Why do you think I ran down here so fast tonight?"

"Tell me more," she purrs, and Hawke makes a choked noise, pushing Anders off him.

"No! Don't tell her more! And Fenris isn't my boyfriend," Hawke moans, as if that's the actual issue here. 

"He will be. But Anders, ignore him, do tell me more. Is our handsome Hawke talented in the bedroom?"

"Oh, Isabela, he has a _massive_ talent," Anders says, and Hawke pushes him again, this time accidentally pushing him off the sofa. He lands on the floor with an oof. Isabela claps and then stares fixedly at Hawke's crotch. He crosses his legs.

"Why do you do this to me," Hawke moans, and finishes his glass of wine.

"I've noticed before, you know," Isabela says. "Especially when you're wearing those black jeans. It's quite distracting sometimes."

"Oh my god." Hawke makes a mental note to never wear the black jeans out of the house ever again.

"But it's nice to have it confirmed by – by an inside man!" Isabela starts laughing at her own semi-joke, slapping her thigh. Anders snorts, still sitting on the floor. 

"Why do you do this to me?" Hawke asks again, looking from one of them to the other. 

"I tease because I love," Isabela says, and moves to sit behind Anders so that she can rebraid his hair. "As for the little kiss thing, you're overreacting. You said he's your favourite barista! That's so cute."

"He said I'm his favourite three shot hazelnut latte guy."

"Good grief, he sounds as awkward as you," Anders says.

"They are precious as fuck, let me tell you," Isabela says, and hugs Anders from behind. "A precious, adorable train wreck." 

"So am I going to be overhearing your bedroom antics any time soon?" Anders says, and Hawke glares at him. "Because I have to say, I do enjoy hearing you moaning-"

"Right, that's it,” Hawke says quickly. “Out, both of you. I've had too much wine for a school night and you're both being mean."

"Mean, me? Wouldn't dream of it, love," Anders says, and pushes to his feet. "But I will go to bed. Good to see you again, Isabela. And Hawke,” Anders starts, and gives that sexy crooked smile of his - the one that was usually followed by Hawke pushing him down to the bed, the one that _still_ makes his heart race. “If you decide you _do_ want the D, you know where I am.”

He goes then, thankfully, and Isabela only stays long enough to finish the bottle of wine.

Snuggling up to him on the sofa, Isabela kisses Hawke on the cheek. “I really do think Fenris likes you. That text was sort of sweet, in a prickly Fenris way.”

Hawke nods, and bites his lip against a smile. “I was worried that he wasn't enjoying himself that first night at the Hanged Man. That maybe I'd done something, or-”

“He just takes a while to warm up to people, that's all. Luckily you have me. I'm always around to warm people up.”

“I'm sure.”

Hawke puts the empty bottles in the kitchen, considers washing up and decides he can't be bothered as Isabela puts her coat on.

“Bethany gets back on Thursday, doesn't she?” 

Hawke nods and smiles. Bethany's coming home, finally; after a year of working in the States, she's decided she missed her family too much. Well, that and she got offered a great job at Imperial College. He's pretty sure it's mostly that she missed her amazing older brother, though. “Yes. I'm picking her up at Heathrow.”

“Do you think she'll come to the Hanged Man with us?” Hawke blinks, slightly confused; Bethany came to their Friday night outings every so often, but he didn't think she and Isabela were especially friendly. 

“Maybe. She's staying in Windsor when she arrives, with our mother. I'll ask her, though. She's welcome to stay with me.”

“It'll be nice to see her again.”

Hawke's still not sure where Isabela's sudden interest has come from, but he can't deny that. “Yeah. It really will.”

After she's gone, Hawke changes into his pyjamas, downs a pint of water and brushes his teeth. Drinking that much wine was probably not a good idea. Tomorrow is going to be hellish. But as mortifying as Anders and Isabela can be, he's glad they came round. He had fun. 

The last thing he sees that night as he's lying in bed and setting his alarm, is another message on his screen. 

_**Fenris** _ _(00:12)  
Good to know. I was serious too_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! <3 It keeps a writer writing, honestly.
> 
> A couple of notes:
> 
> \- Merrill's puppy eyes comment is from banter in the game, of course, but I was thinking of [this awesome animation](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/124196790534/lovesickclown-disgusstinggg) as I wrote it.  
> \- The movie Isabela brings around is [Dante's Cove](http://www.heretv.com/dantes-cove) (which is a show rather than a movie but it is definitely terrible/amazing).  
> \- [This is the wine that Anders brings.](http://www.petitchatwine.com/)  
> \- I just want Tamlen to be happy.


	7. Chapter 7

Heathrow is busy, as it always is. With drinks in hand, Hawke dodges self-important business men on their cell phones and teenagers with cases piled up on baggage trolleys and heads back to where his mother waits. 

Leandra Hawke is leaning against a concrete pillar, her hair piled up in a messy bun, and watching the arrivals screen intently. Bethany's flight is half an hour late, and it's put both of them on edge. It's nothing – of _course_ it's nothing, happens all the time – but they're both overprotective of Bethany. 

It's because of Carver – his little brother, Bethany's twin. Carver died the year he and Bethany started university, and it tore a ragged hole in the family's heart. They were only just recovering from the death of their father a few years before, and after Carver- 

Well. The family never entirely healed, with almost half of them gone.

Hawke glances at the arrivals board, and breathes out. The plane has landed, it says. Bethany is fine. 

"Here you go," Hawke says, handing his mother her coffee. He's got a Coke himself; he didn't much like the thought of a non-Fenris coffee.

She takes it and smiles up at him. "Thank you, dear. You know, it'll be so nice to have someone in the house again," she says. "It's such a big place to have all alone. I can't wait until you two give me grandchildren."

Hawke stares at her. "I'm gay, Mum."

"I know, but you can adopt. You don't even need a husband," she says. It sounds like she's started to give up on Hawke ever finding someone. "You would still be a wonderful father, and I'd help, of course."

"You've thought about this," Hawke says, disbelieving, as he opens his bottle of Coke – it suggests he should share it with someone called Alistair. "You've actually spent time thinking about me with a kid. As a single father, no less."

A shriek interrupts them as a couple reunites next to them and start kissing passionately, with a little hands-under-the-sweater action just to make things even more uncomfortable for onlookers. One of them elbows Hawke in the arm. He glares at them, but they're far too busy to notice.

“You know Mrs White, two doors down?” Leandra is saying, “Her son is gay, I'm sure he'd love to meet you. He's a banker.”

“I really don't need matchmaking, thank you,” Hawke says, and she raises an eyebrow. Sure, it's been a while, but come on. Hawke wouldn't say he has _high_ standards, but he needs a little more in common with a partner than 'likes guys' and 'has a job'. 

Things like enjoying fantasy novels and _The Champion of Kirkwall_ , for example. 

“I just want to see you happy, Garrett. You've been single for a while.” 

Hawke never told his mother about Anders, because it became clear fairly quickly that it wasn't working out. And before Anders, his last serious boyfriend of the bringing-home-to-meet-mother type was longer ago than he cares to think about. So as far as she's concerned, yes, it has been a while. But still.

“I've not quite consigned myself to a life of celibacy yet, Mother,” he grumps, and her eyes twinkle, letting him know she's at least partly joking. That's something, then. 

"You're a wonderful man," she says, patting his arm. "And very handsome. I'm sure you'll find someone; you just work too hard."

That's true, and there are some big projects coming up soon that'll mean even longer hours, but he _has_ met someone, even if they've not so much as kissed yet. He considers telling her about Fenris, but then her face lights up with a smile as she looks towards the arrivals door.

Hawke looks too, and sees Bethany. 

His heart swells at the sight of her. She's wearing a chunky cardigan over a flowery dress and Doc Martens. It seems that after a year in Seattle, she's channelling the ghost of grunge. Then again, as someone who lives in plaid shirts, Hawke can't really talk. Instead he waves energetically, and she laughs to see them, running over with her suitcases trailing behind her. She wraps her arms around both of them awkwardly, and one of the suitcases falls to the floor, but none of them care because she's _home_.

She's safe, and she's home, and the Hawkes are back together at last. 

“It's so good to see you both,” she says, her voice muffled by Hawke's chest. He squeezes her once more, making her squeak, and lets her hug Leandra properly. 

“How are you, darling?” Leandra asks, holding Bethany's cheeks and kissing her forehead. 

“I'm good, Mum. Tired, but good.”

“I've missed you so much,” Hawke says, and crouches down to help her pick up her bags. He takes one of the suitcases, her backpack and a weekend bag, both of which are incredibly heavy. “Did they really let you take all of this on the plane? They must weigh more than you do.”

“I had to pay extra, but it was worth it. I brought presents!”

“Chocolate?” Hawke has a thing for American chocolate, especially the type that involves peanut butter. 

“So much chocolate, Garrett. Am I the best sister in the world, or what?”

“The bestest.”

“I got _good_ chocolate for you, Mum,” she says, and Hawke _hmphs_ at the suggestion that his taste isn't good. Chocolate and peanut butter are a match made in heaven, everyone knows that. 

They head out to the car, somewhere in the depths of the car park. There's not much point in having a car when you live in London, but Hawke keeps his for emergencies and trips to see his mother, as well as airport pick-ups. It comes in handy, but unfortunately it's not very unique. That fact is in evidence right now, as they search in vain for a black four-by-four in a sea of similarly huge black cars. 

“When do you start your job?” Leandra asks, following Hawke under the mistaken impression that he knows where he's going. 

“I've given myself a week to get over the jet lag,” Bethany says, yawning. “And at least I'll be able to sleep on the train into London. That's one good thing about the commute.”

"You're welcome to stay with me until you get a place," Hawke says. That green car – he parked somewhere near there, didn't he?

"Still single then?" She says it part-teasing, part-concern, but Hawke feels a blush spread over his cheeks and Bethany's eyes widen and she grins. _"Not_ single?"

"It's not - there's someone I like," Hawke says as spies his car – thank god – and heads over as though that was his destination all along. He opens the boot of the car and tries to figure out the best way to get her bags in there. He should probably have taken all the recycling out before coming to the airport.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His mother says, clasping his hands like he's just announced a miracle. She hugs him and looks up at him, as proud as he's ever seen her. "And after all the things I just said about you being a single father."

"What?" Bethany asks looking from one of them to the other. "Have I missed something?"

"We've not even been on a date yet, Mum,” Hawke says, piling the cases into the boot and hoping for the best. “Might be a bit early to start thinking about adoption."

"Well, come on then," Bethany says, pushing him gently out of the way as he tries to fit the last piece of luggage when there's clearly no room, and puts it on the back seat instead. “Tell me more!”

"He's a barista at my favourite coffee shop. And we got talking, and flirting. Sort of. He's been coming to the Hanged Man with everyone for the past few weeks."

"What's my future son-in-law called?" Leandra asks as they get into the car, and Hawke groans. He can just imagine her saying this sort of thing the first time she meets Fenris, and _Hawke_ knows she's joking, but Fenris? Hawke's not sure how much of a sense of humour he has. 

"Fenris."

"Fenris?” Bethany says. “That's a nice name. Unusual. Is he cute?"

"Very." 

“Ooooh,” she says, nudging him. “Can't wait to meet him.”

Hawke manages to steer the conversation back to Bethany, and thankfully she does most of the talking on the way home. 

When they get to Windsor, Hawke follows Bethany up to her room with her incredibly heavy bags. His arms are aching by the time he gets there – seriously, why does she have so much stuff!? - and finds her standing by her chest of drawers with a photo frame in her hands. Leaving the cases just inside the door, Hawke goes up to her.

It's a photo of the three of them - him, Bethany and Carver - on holiday in Brighton. It was just before Hawke went to university, and Carver had just started his grumpy teenager phase. In the photo he's glaring at the camera as Hawke musses up his hair, and Bethany kisses his cheek. Hawke smiles and his heart aches, and he puts his arm around Bethany's shoulders.

"I thought it would be easier in America," she says, touching the image of Carver. "Away from everything that reminded me of him. But it wasn't. I just ended up missing you and Mum as well as Carver and Dad. I suppose I was running away, but it's not the sort of thing you can ever get away from."

"No," Hawke agrees. "Not really. For what it's worth, I missed you too. A lot." He spreads his arms wide. "This much, at least."

"That's cheating, Garrett, you have longer arms than me."

"I have longer everything than you." She starts laughing, and Hawke blushes as he realises why. "I didn't mean that! Why would you think I meant that?!"

Bethany laughs some more, and shakes her head. "Honestly, big brother, you walk right into these things."

"You're as bad as Isabela," Hawke sighs, and shakes his head. "She was asking about you, by the way."

"Oh?" Bethany lifts one of her cases onto the bed and unzips it. She's facing away from him, so Hawke can't see her face, but there's a note in her voice that puzzles him. "We've been chatting on Facebook a bit. It'll be nice to see her. What did she say?"

"She asked if you were coming to the Hanged Man."

"You still go out on Fridays?" Hawke nods. "I don't think I'll come out tomorrow – I'm probably going to spend most of the day in bed, but maybe next week?"

"I'd like that." Hawke pauses. "Fenris has been coming out with us."

"Ohhh? Tell me more about this Fenris. I can't believe you didn't mention him to me!"

"He'll be at the Hanged Man,” Hawke says, avoiding the accusation. He hadn't wanted to say anything – it felt like it would be jinxing it. It still feels like it now.

“Then I suppose I'll have to start coming with you. I know what you're like; I won't meet him for months, otherwise.” Bethany says, and takes a plastic bag out of her case. She hands it over to him, and it's full of all the chocolatey, peanut-buttery things Hawke could ever wish for, of every size and shape. He grins, and hugs her tight. 

“I'm so glad you're home, Bethany.”

“Me too, big brother. Me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

Hawke's not clumsy, not really, but right now he feels like it.

They're ice skating at the South Bank. There are twinkling lights everywhere, and the London Eye is an ethereal blue ring against the blackness of the sky. It's all very pretty. Magical, even.

Hawke doesn't feel magical. Hawke is clinging to the side of the rink while everyone else whirls around it like it's the easiest thing in the world. 

He just can't do ice skates. Every year he comes out, sure that somehow, without any practice at all, he'll have gotten better. Every year, he's proven wrong. 

“Come on, Hawke,” Fenris says as he comes level with him. He's wonderful at skating. It shouldn't be a surprise - with that hair, he looks like some kind of winter spirit. He even has his own skates, battered but well loved. At least Isabela and Bethany are clinging to each other and giggling as they slowly make their way around the rink; Fenris has been gliding around the ice, elegant and effortless. It makes Hawke unspeakably jealous. 

“I'm fine where I am.”

“Let me help,” Fenris says, and offers his arm. 

This is a dilemma. 

Getting to spend some time arm-in-arm with Fenris, but with the very real possibility of dragging them both down on their asses. 

Although honestly – can he look any more foolish than he does already? 

“I feel compelled to warn you that I'm almost definitely going to fall, and that I might bring you down with me.”

“It's a risk I'm willing to take,” Fenris says, his arm still proffered. 

Hawke pushes away from the barrier. 

And loses his balance immediately. 

Fenris catches him, and stays on his feet without the slightest problem. 

“Alright, Hawke,” he says, and links their arms together. Suddenly Hawke's brain is full of white noise. Perhaps this was a bad idea. There's no way he is going to be able to concentrate with Fenris touching him. “Let's take this slowly. Put your knees a little closer. You want to be skating on the inside edge.” Hawke has no idea what he's talking about, but Fenris is touching his thigh, pressing slightly, and Hawke will do absolutely anything he asks. “Now bend your knees, just a little, and keep your chest up. That's it. Now, watch my feet, and do what I do.” 

Following Fenris's lead, Hawke pushes off and glides forward, wobbling a little, but Fenris is holding him steady. 

In fact, Fenris turns out to be an excellent teacher. They only wipe out once, and it ends with Fenris in Hawke's lap, laughing and saying _how did you even do that?_ , so even though Hawke is one hundred percent sure his arse is one giant bruise, it was totally worth it. 

When their time is up, Fenris helps him to the side. Hawke winces – his thighs are in agony. Isabela gives him two thumbs up as she passes. 

Their plan for the rest of the evening is to take advantage of some half-price cocktails, but they pass a carousel on the way to the bar, and Bethany grabs his arm. 

“Let's go on, big brother. I'm feeling a bit nostalgic.”

Carousels have a special place in all the Hawkes hearts. When Bethany and Carver were little, they used to be obsessed with them and insist on riding any that they saw. Carver would always want the ferocious horse, and Bethany would want whichever one was the most battered, saying she felt sorry for it. Their parents would stand at the side and usher Hawke on to look after them. Good brother that he was, Hawke would happily obey, and the twins were always so happy afterwards, giggling and dizzy, clinging to each other. Even when they were older, when Carver was more restrained, more distant, carousel rides would always have him laughing with Bethany and linking arms with her. 

Since he died, neither Hawke nor Bethany have been on a carousel.

The two of them stand side by side, looking up at the bright lights and colourful horses, and Hawke wonders if Bethany's chest feels as tight as his does. 

“It's been a long time,” he says, quietly. 

“It has. I think I'm ready, though,” she says, smiling up at him, and he kisses the top of her head. 

“I've missed you, Bethany.”

“So you've told me a hundred times so far,” she says, and pats his arm. “I missed you too, Garrett.” She turns to look at the others. “We're going on. Come with us?”

“You know it, Sunshine,” Isabela says, and grabs Bethany's hand so that they can choose the best horses that haven't already been claimed. Hawke stays where he is for a moment, looking up at them, thinking of things lost. 

“Are you alright, Hawke?” Fenris asks from his side, and Hawke looks down at him. He looks concerned. For Hawke. He looks like he cares, and that makes Hawke's heart hurt in a wholly different way. 

“Yes,” he says, and gestures at the ride, where Isabela is straddling a huge blue horse and waving her fist in the air, saying something that is making Bethany giggle. “Do you want to...?”

“If everyone else is doing it.”

They pay their money and Hawke is ready to take whichever horse isn't taken by gleeful children or tired-looking parents, but Fenris circles the whole ride very seriously, examining each choice. 

It's fucking adorable. 

Eventually he chooses a mount that isn't a horse at all. It's a white deer, with twisted antlers. As Fenris gets on – elegant as always, Hawke grins. 

“It matches your hair.”

Fenris raises an eyebrow at him, but there's a tiny smile there as well. 

Hawke gets on the horse next to him, a black one with a red saddle, and the operator starts the ride straight away. Fairground music starts to play, and the kids around them squeal with joy. Hawke's not sure over the noise, but he thinks Fenris laughs, very quietly. 

Hawke is glad he's here. Isabela, too. If it had been just him and Bethany, it would have been sombre. It would have hurt. But with Isabela yelling inappropriate things and Fenris's soft, barely heard laughter, it's fun.

When they get off, Bethany links his arm, like she used to do Carver. They share one sad smile, and one tight hug. 

Finally they make their way to the bar, just in time for the end of happy hour. 

They take a seat near the window, so that they can admire the twinkling lights outside. The bar itself is dark, with lots of exposed brick and metalwork. The table is small, but even so, Isabela is sitting _very_ close to Bethany. Hawke's overprotective-big-brother sense is tingling.

“You're living in Windsor, aren't you Bethany?” Isabela says.

“Yes, with Mum. The house belonged to our grandparents, and it's a lot grander than the house we grew up in. I lived there a few years before I went to university, and let me tell you, the life of luxury took some getting used to,” Bethany says, and as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, she gives Isabela a look that Hawke doesn't want to describe as flirtatious. It _is_ flirtatious, but he doesn't want to think of it that way. 

Isabela. And Bethany. 

_Anyone_ and Bethany. 

“I've never been to Windsor,” Isabela says, leaning forward to show off her cleavage. Hawke's gay, but it's still _very_ distracting. “Maybe you could show me around sometime?”

“I'd love to.”

“I could show you around,” Hawke says quickly. “Too.”

Isabela narrows her eyes at him. “I'm sure Bethany is a perfectly wonderful tour guide.”

“Things have changed while she's been in America. I can show you the updated things.”

Bethany looks very confused. Isabela looks very annoyed. 

“I've not been to Windsor for a long time,” Fenris says. “I never got to see the palace. Perhaps you could take me, Hawke."

"You do that. I hate palaces,” Isabela says. “Me and Bethany will do girly things instead." 

Hawke looks between her and Fenris, not knowing what to do. And then Fenris puts his hand on top of Hawke's and he forgets how to words. Fenris's hand is warm, and smooth, and Hawke stares down at it, at the contrast between the white ink of the tattoo and his brown skin, and he's touching Hawke, and his hand is warm, and soft, and oh god.

“Isabela, why don't you go and get the first round?” Fenris suggests. “Bethany will help you with the glasses.”

Isabela looks at him, and then nods. “Let's go, Bethany. I want to make sure they're putting proper measures in my drink.”

"Hawke," Fenris says when they've gone. He looks at him with a frown. "Do you not trust Isabela?"

"With my life. But I'm not sure I trust her with my sister."

"What about Bethany, then? She's just spent a year in America on her own. You trust her to do that but not spend one single day with Isabela?"

"It's not that, it's just - I'm a protective big brother."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Fenris says, with a smirk. "I don't know either of them as well as you do, but I think Bethany can look after herself. Isabela and Bethany aside, I- I would like to spend the day with you."

"Just us?"

"Just us." Fenris says this very seriously, and then pulls his hand away. Hawke wants to reach for it, but doesn't dare. Instead he watches as Fenris runs his finger around the edge of a beermat and avoids Hawke's gaze. It means that Hawke has an excellent view of his profile, and he's so gorgeous, so damn gorgeous that Hawke can't look away. 

Hawke swallows. "And - this isn't just a tactic to get me away from Isabela and my sister?"

"It is, but it is also absolutely true."

"Alright," Hawke says. Fenris's gaze lifts, meeting his, and he smiles. His hand goes back to his Hawke's and traces a scar over the back of it. It feels amazing. "We'll go to the palace. But Isabela had better be on her best behaviour."

"Am I ever anything else, kitten?"

She has two drinks in her hands, one clear and one bright blue, in a martini glass. She hands the clear one to Hawke, who sniffs it and wrinkles his nose.

“Is this gin?” Hawke asks, and Isabela nods. 

“Don't you like it?”

“It's not that,” Hawke says, and then sighs. Gin makes him sad. Melancholy. He doesn't want to admit his most pathetic weakness, so he says, “It's fine.”

“And here you go,” Bethany says, setting a creamy drink in front of Fenris. “Isabela said you'd like this.”

“What is it?”

Isabela gives a throaty laugh, and smiles at him. “A Screaming Orgasm.”

_Oh my god._ Isabela is trying to kill him, she's actually trying to kill him. His cheeks heat up hotter than the Sahara, especially when Fenris chuckles and says, 

“Who _doesn't_ like those?”

“Oh my god!” Hawke says, aloud, and Isabela pats his arm. 

“Don't be prudish.”

“I'm not! I'm most definitely not prudish. Liberated, even. Um.”

Isabela raises an eyebrow and smiles wider. “Kinky?”

“No, just – non-virginal! I totally like screaming orgasms.”

That was – absolutely not the right thing to say. 

_Whywhywhy_ Hawke thinks as everyone laughs at him, and Fenris grins. 

“Always good to know,” he says. Hawke blushes, but is also rather pleased to know that Fenris might perhaps be curious as to the type of orgasms Hawke likes (the correct answer is 'all of them', especially if Fenris is involved). 

“Can we _please_ change the subject,” Hawke suggests, and Fenris, superstar that he is, acquiesces. 

“I'm not working on Sunday, if you want to go to Windsor then,” he says. There are general murmurs of agreement. “We could arrive for lunchtime and eat together before going our separate ways.”

“I'll drive us,” Hawke says. “Where do you live, Fenris? I'll pick you up.”

“Hackney. I'll text you my address.”

Praise the lord, Hawke is going to have Fenris's address as well as have him in the car for an hour. Isabela will be there, too, but it'll be the closest to alone they've ever been. 

Sunday is going to be amazing.

A few drinks later, before they go their separate ways, Isabela leans in to whisper in Fenris's ear, and Hawke hears her say, _I owe you._ He also hears Fenris say back – not low, but quiet, and deep, so deep, _I'll remember that._

Fenris and Hawke get the tube together. It's quiet, and they have a whole row of seats to themselves. They sit in companionable silence for a while, until Fenris looks at Hawke. 

“Why is it that you're so opposed to Isabela being alone with Bethany? I can't see you being friends with her if you didn't trust her.”

“It's not that,” Hawke says, and then rubs his eyes. “It's just-” He pauses, wondering what to say. He really, really shouldn't go on about Carver, about his dad, this is not the time or place, but the words start spilling out of his mouth. He talks of seeing his dad get so ill, so quickly, fading away in front of them. Of the phone call from Uncle Gamlen just a few years later, telling him in his coarse way that Carver was dead, and Hawke better come home. Of attending the murder trial. Of how lost Bethany was without her twin, of his mother drowning in grief, of how he tried so hard to hold the family together. The words are hard to speak, but they're even harder to stop. His eyes blur with tears a few times but at least he doesn't cry, and it hurts, it'll always hurt, and it hurts even more when he talks about it. 

“I'm sorry, Hawke,” Fenris says, quietly, sincerely.

“That's why I'm so protective of Bethany. I couldn't protect Carver but I can protect her.”

“You were hundreds of miles away from your brother.”

"But I should've - I should've _protected_ Carver, I'm his big brother, I-" His voice cracks, and he can't go on. There's a heavy, ugly thing in his chest, made of guilt and grief, that's never really gone away.

“There's nothing you could have done,” Fenris says, and Hawke knows that, he _knows_ , but Carver is still dead, and Hawke still failed as a big brother.

“I'm usually not this bad, I swear,” Hawke says, and forces a laugh. “It's the gin – I can't drink gin, it always makes me sad. I'm sorry, Fenris.”

“It's alright, Hawke,” Fenris says softly. He puts a hand over Hawke's, where it rests on his knee. Hawke slots their fingers together and looks up at Fenris, meets his eyes. Fenris doesn't look away.

Neither of them say anything else, just sit there holding hands, their shoulders touching, and it helps.

It helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris's choice of carousel mount was inspired by [this amazing gif :3](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/125076914314/yarking-elf-fact-elves-are-biologically)


	9. Chapter 9

Fenris had looked at him when he went into Deep Roads the next day. Looked at him carefully, searching. In the end, he hadn't said anything, but he had brushed his fingers over the back of Hawke's hand as he passed over his coffee.

Hawke had felt the ghost of that touch all day.

On the way home, he'd called at Isabela's house and apologised. She'd shaken her head and kissed his cheek and called him a dick. Something he very much deserved. But she'd forgiven him and told him that while yes, her intentions with Bethany were impure, she would never, ever hurt her.

Hawke believed her.

Now it's finally Sunday. The plan is to meet Bethany at their mother's house, and then head into town. Mum is visiting Uncle Gamlen, and Hawke's a little relieved. Meeting a parent is a big step, and he feels like he and Fenris should probably have at least one date before that happens. 

He's picking Isabela up first. As soon as he gets there she's stepping out of her flat, yawning widely. She's wearing a blue coat that goes down to midthigh, and he assumes she has something on underneath but who knows? All he can see are fishnet tights and brown boots. Still yawning, she climbs into the back seat. 

“Fenris can sit up front,” she says, reaching forward to ruffle Hawke's hair. He squawks and then flips the sunshade down so that he can fix it in the mirror while she laughs at him. When he went to apologise to her, she told him that she was going to mess with him as payback. This is the beginning, apparently. 

“Low blow,” he tells Isabela. 

“Aw, Hawke, I'm sorry. I know you need to look good for your boyfriend.” He turns to glare at her, and she pats his arm. “And you look gorgeous. Stop fussing. Anyway, I'm going to sleep. Bull was at it all night with his latest conquest and whoever she was, she had the lungs of a banshee. I'm going to sleep.” 

Bull being the nickname of one of Isabela's flatmates – Hawke doesn't know why, and isn't about to ask. Being that the man is even taller and wider than Hawke, he could take a few guesses. 

“Were you jealous?”

“A little.” She shrugs and kicks her boots off so that she can put her feet on the seat. “From what I can hear through our shockingly thin walls, Bull is _very_ good in bed.”

Hawke turns on the sat nav, puts Fenris's address into it, and checks his mirrors before pulling out into the street. “He seems like the type.”

“He does, doesn't he?”

She yawns again, and then reaches between the front seats to grab the iPod cable. 

“Hey,” Hawke says, glaring at her. “Music is driver's choice.”

“First: you have terrible taste in music. Second: I've not entirely forgiven you yet.”

More messing with him. But since the second point is understandable, it's not worth arguing the first. He lets her have her way and regrets it two seconds later when the Backstreet Boys starts to play. 

“Really?”

“Really,” she says with a smirk, and settles back onto the seat. She's asleep by the time they arrive in Hackney, so he risks turning it off. The embarrassment potential if Fenris thought that was his choice is just too great. Isabela doesn't wake; the silence just means he can hear her quiet snoring, and he smiles at her in the review mirror. She's a good friend; he's glad she's mostly forgiven him.

The sat nav sends him down a main road scattered with hipster coffee joints and bars. Murals and reclaimed wood are a dominant feature. It's an interesting neighbourhood, and Hawke can see Fenris fitting in here. Fenris isn't exactly a hipster, but it's relaxed, it's quiet, and the small side street where he lives is private. Fenris definitely seems the type to like privacy. 

Hawke sends a text to say they're outside, and picks Isabela's iPod up. A quick look through it reveals that she has a damned cheek telling him that his music taste is bad, and he plugs his own in. He spent most of last night getting a playlist ready, mostly movie and game soundtracks that can't offend anyone. 

Hopefully. 

It's better than the Backstreet Boys, anyway.

Movement catches Hawke's eye, and he sees Fenris step out of a small, three storey apartment block. He's wearing a black jacket along with a beanie, and a chunky grey scarf. Fenris in knitwear is fucking adorable. His tight grey jeans show off his legs, long and muscular, and – Fenris has _really_ good legs. After a few seconds of staring – let's be honest, _perving_ – he realises Fenris doesn't know which is his car, so he winds down the window and waves at him.

“Hey,” Hawke says with a smile as Fenris gets in.

“Good morning,” he says, and glances at Isabela laid out in the backseat. 

“Apparently one of her flatmates had a big night last night.”

“I see,” Fenris says. “So. A day together, hmm?”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Fenris says, and smiles as the theme song from _Champion of Kirkwall_ starts to play. 

So much better than Backstreet Boys.

It's about an hour from London to Windsor, and the roads are pleasantly clear. He and Fenris talk nearly all the way there. It's so _easy_ to talk to him. Their conversation is just natural, their silences companionable, and Hawke's secretly glad Isabela is asleep. It means he gets all the Fenris-time to himself. 

By the time Hawke's pulling up in front of his mother's place, Isabela is finally stirring. She sits up, yawning noisily. 

“Are we here?”

“Yep.” 

“Ooh,” she says, looking out of the windows. “Everywhere looks so fancy! Which one is your house?!”

“The one we're parked outside.” He points.

Isabela scoots over to see, and stares at it. “Are you shitting me?” She gets out of the car, leaving the door open. “This isn't a house, it's a fucking mansion!”

“I'm inclined to agree,” Fenris says, as they both get out of the car as well. He folds his arms, staring up at it as Hawke shuts Isabela's door and locks up. 

Hawke can't blame them for their reactions; he still remembers the first time he saw this place. He'd been twenty years old, and had lived a perfectly normal working-class life until then. To say that the Amell Estate had been a big change in living arrangements would be an understatement.

His ancestral home is four storeys tall, with six bedrooms, a huge kitchen, and a dining room, as well as a living room, a sitting room and a family room – Hawke's never been entirely sure what the difference is. There are more rooms in the basement that used to belong to servants but which his mother now uses as an art studio. Around the back, there's a large garden with a few full sized trees and a large pond that Hawke once fell in after drinking too much at a barbecue. 

“A _mansion_ ,” Isabela repeats, with feeling, and takes her phone out to take a selfie in front of it. Hawke imagines it's probably going to Aveline, and possibly Varric, too. Hawke groans at the thought of his house ending up in a future instalment of _Hard in Hightown_. 

“I told you about this place,” he says to her. “Several times.”

“I know, but _Jesus.”_

Isabela already knows the story, but Fenris doesn't, so Hawke turns to him. He's is still staring up at the house but at least isn't swearing in the street. “My grandparents disowned my mum when she married Dad – he was working class, totally not what they wanted for her. I never even saw this place until after my grandparents died. They ended up writing Mum back into the will, but didn't have chance to tell us before they passed away. We didn't even know until we got a call from their lawyers.”

“It must have been a bit of a shock.”

“Yeah. My mum's family used to be nobility, or something. There's a title somewhere, I think.”

“Wait,” Isabela says, tuning back into the conversation. “A title? Seriously? Don't tell me you're Lord Hawke or something?”

“No,” Hawke says quickly. Why did he bring that up? He doesn't even know for sure – it was centuries back, something his mum found out on a free trial from Ancestry.com. “And it'd be Lord Amell, anyway. Probably.”

“Lord Hawke,” Isabela says again, putting on a ridiculously posh accent and waving her hands dramatically. “Oh I say, will you be dining with the Queen this week up at the castle?”

“Will you stop,” Hawke says, laughing. She's ridiculous. And yes, the house is ridiculous too. “No lordship. No meals with the Queen.”

“Excuse me,” Fenris says, and points at the gateposts. At the shields carved into them. “Is that your family crest, Lord Hawke?”

“You can stop as well,” Hawke says, laughing harder, and herds both of them to the front door. “I can believe this from Isabela, but from you?”

“What can I say, I've never been invited to a noble's house before. I'm honoured, my lord.”

Isabela shrieks with laughter at that, as Hawke unlocks the door and pushes her inside. _My lord? Oh my god._ Hawke can't even begin to process that.

There's an excited bark and then the sound of running, as Hawke's dog, Sam, comes barrelling into the hallway. He runs around the three of them and then Hawke kneels down in front of him to scratch his head and then hug him. 

“Who's a good dog?” he asks, and Sam barks happily, wagging his stumpy tail. “You are! Because you're not going to tease me about my ancestry.” He scratches Sam under the chin as Bethany walks into the hall with a mug in her hands. 

“Really, Garrett, you're not even going to invite them into the sitting room?”

“You have a sitting room?” Isabela says, and cackles, clapping her hands delightedly. “Lead the way, Bethany, lead the way.”

She does, leaving Hawke and Sam alone with Fenris. Sam turns his attention to the new person, barking a greeting. 

“Hello,” Fenris says to him, very seriously, and offers him a hand to sniff before stroking his head. “And what's your name?”

“Sam. Short for Samwise,” Hawke says, and Fenris smiles. 

“Of course it is,” he says, still petting Sam. Fenris, it seems, is a dog person. This should not be a surprise – he seems almost wolfish himself sometimes. Something about his smiles, the way he holds himself.

“Would you like a tour, then? Of the Hawke mansion?”

Fenris nods. “Why not?”

Sam pads behind them as they walk around the house. Hawke would like to say that his dog is pleased to see him, but he's much more excited when Fenris pays attention to him. _Traitor_.

They see the ground floor rooms first – as they pass through the sitting room, Bethany is giggling over some story Isabela is telling – before going upstairs. Mostly they're bedrooms and therefore private, but Hawke shows him the small library - _library,_ Fenris mutters, shaking his head – full of books that belonged to Hawke's grandfather. Most accurately, they probably belonged to _his_ grandfather. Hawke keeps telling his mother she should sell them or give them to a museum. 

Other than that, there's just the bathroom, and-

His bedroom. 

Hawke pauses with his hand on the door. It's not really _his_ bedroom – he only lived here a few months after finishing uni while looking for a place in London – but still. Fenris will be there, and so is a bed, and those two things could go together in oh so many wonderful ways.

“Hawke? Is everything okay?” Fenris looks slightly worried. Hawke is panicking over nothing and worrying Fenris. _Stop it._

“Yes, fine. This is my room,” he says, pushing the door open. Since he never really lived here, there's not a ton of personal stuff. There's some stylised sci-fi posters in frames, a few prints of his favourite geeky art, photos. Just that, and some books.

While Hawke stands in the doorway, images of Fenris+bed race through Hawke's mind, however much he tries to push them away. Fenris goes to the bookcase, runs his fingers over the spines. Most of Hawke's favourites are at his flat, but there are some here – the hardbacks, mostly, that he doesn't have room for. Now and again, Fenris's fingers pause, and he smiles. 

He laughs at one, and pulls it out to flick through it. “Choose Your Own Adventure? I used to have one of these when I was a kid.”

“I had the whole series, but Mum gave them away to a kid down the street when I was at uni. I was devastated. That's the only survivor.”

_“You Are a Shark?”_

“Yeah, I don't think the kid wanted that one.”

Fenris snorts and puts it back. 

He absentmindedly pats Sam on the head, and moves to the window, which looks out over the garden. He shakes his head. “I really can't believe you lived here.”

“To be honest, I barely did. I was already at uni when Mum inherited the place.”

“I see.”

“This – this house, this Lord Hawke stuff – this isn't me, you know? I grew up in a run-down semi-detached in Bracknell, with a car that had a bumper covered in duct tape. And then – this. It was a bit of a leap. But it means that Mum gets to spend her retirement somewhere nice, and Sam gets a nice big garden. There's no way I could have a big dog like you in a flat, is there, boy?”

Sam barks and demands more pets from Fenris, who smiles and crouches to give them to him. 

Definitely a dog person. 

"This isn't home to you, then?"

Hawke sits on the bed, watching Sam lick Fenris's face and make him chuckle. "Not really. But to me, home is family. Even though I didn't live here for long, it'll always be home because Mum's here. And now Bethany.” Hawke realises he's rambling. About himself. As always. "What about you? Where's home for you?"

"You picked me up there this morning," Fenris says, standing and turning back to the window. His back's a little rigid, voice clipped, and Hawke's getting the distinct impression he needs to back off. Like he thought earlier: Fenris likes his privacy, and Hawke is intruding on it. 

"Yeah, I think of London as home now,” Hawke says, sounding more relaxed than he feels. Fenris can be prickly sometimes, and that's fine; that's just who he is. But Hawke doesn't want to upset him. “And what I said about family - my friends are family, too. So you make it home."

"Me?" Fenris turns back and leans against the window ledge. He looks at Hawke for a few seconds, before staring down at the floor. "Am I your friend, Hawke?"

"Of course."

"We barely know each other."

Hawke wants to step forward. With most people he'd touch them - he's a tactile comforter - but he's already intruded on Fenris's privacy; he's not about to intrude on his personal space as well. 

"Maybe not. But I like you, Fenris. I'd like to know you better."

Fenris's head is still bowed, but he looks up, meeting Hawke's eyes through his hair, and says, very quietly, "I like you, too."

Hawke's heart is thudding in his throat. He tries to think what to say next, but it's hard to think with Fenris looking at him like that.

"I-"

"Oh, boys!" Isabela. Outside the door. Probably listening in. "We're about to head out but if the two of you are _busy_ we can leave without you."

Hawke looks up at Fenris who's turned away and is looking fixedly at the bookcase. Whatever that was between them, the moment is gone.

"We're coming," Hawke says, and isn't surprised to hear Isabela's giggle.

“Sam?” Hawke says, but he's curled up on the floor, apparently happy where he is, in a room that's normally forbidden to him. Since he's been such good company for Fenris, Hawke lets him stay. 

They eat at a pub in town, and afterwards go their separate ways. Hawke frowns a little as Isabela links her arm with Bethany's, but he reminds himself that he trusts Isabela, that Bethany is a grown up that can look after herself, and he does _not_ want to be overprotective, but-

“Come on, Hawke,” Fenris says, apparently determined to save Hawke from himself. 

They go to the castle, and join one of the free tours of the Precincts. When it's over, Fenris grabs a guidebook so that they know what they're looking at. 

“I love places like this,” he says, as they walk through the Semi-State Rooms. They're incredibly grand, with lots of plush red carpet, heraldry and statues everywhere. “Inspiration for my writing, you know. Although I don't think I'd ever write about anything _quite_ so ostentatious.”

“I'd love to read your book,” Hawke says, and Fenris looks away. _Oh, nice one._ Hawke already knows that Fenris doesn't like to talk about his writing, why did he say that? “I mean – only if you want me to. Or I'll buy it when it's published. I'll buy it when it's published anyway, of course. Support my friend and all that. But.”

“Maybe once Varric's had a look at it,” Fenris says. “I'd appreciate your honest opinion.”

“You'll have it,” Hawke promises. He doesn't know anything about Fenris's writing – he could be awful for all Hawke knows. Could he tell him that? Oh god. No, he's sure Fenris can't be awful. Varric read the first few chapters, and then asked if he could read the rest. He wouldn't have done that if it wasn't at least halfway decent. And honestly? He doesn't think that Fenris could be bad at anything.

 _Wow,_ Hawke thinks. That was pretty pathetic. His lovesick puppy-ness is at full strength today, apparently. 

As they explore the rest of the castle, Hawke wonders, as he does every time he visits, what on earth people need this many rooms for. And why there needs to be so much gold. He'd get creeped out about all the paintings, too, he thinks. All those eyes, following him. There used to be portraits of various Amells in their house, but his mother took them down, other than one of her parents. _Who needs that many dead strangers staring at you all the time,_ she'd said, and Hawke agrees completely. 

They go into St George's chapel. _Chapel_ seems a bit of a misnomer, Hawke thinks. It makes him think of little rooms in schools, something like that. This? This is more of a cathedral. Vaulted ceilings, tall stained glass windows, the works. It's quiet despite the people milling around. Some are lighting candles, some sitting in the pews and praying. It's very peaceful. 

“Hawke,” Fenris says in a hushed voice, nudging him and pointing at the ceiling. It's covered in shields. “Isn't that your family's coat of arms?”

“What!?” Hawke whispers. “Where?”

Fenris points and Hawke squints up at it. From this distance it's hard to be sure, but it certainly looks like red hawks rampant on a silver field. “Oh my god, I think it is,” he says, and then winces. Not that he's religious, at all, but blaspheming in a chapel-slash-cathedral is kind of gauche. “I don't believe it.”

Flipping through the guidebook, Fenris says, “They're the crests of people who received the Order of the Garter, the highest order of chivalry in the country.”

“What does that mean? Did one of my ancestors slay a dragon or something?”

“Dragons aren't real, Hawke. And I don't know, it doesn't say.” 

“Oh my g-” He stops himself just in time. “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed, Lord Hawke.” Fenris smirks.

“Don't,” Hawke moans, and grabs his arm, leading him out of the chapel. 

Fenris just laughs and puts the guidebook back in his jacket pocket. “You overreact about everything.”

“You're just noticing this now? What about all those times when I was overly enthusiastic about my morning coffee?”

“My three-shot hazelnut latte is exquisite, or so I'm told, and therefore worthy of such a dramatic reaction.” He's still smirking. Hawke thinks it's kinda hot. 

“Good point,” he says.

Hawke suggests that they leave and go to get something to drink. One sighting of his family's crest is quite enough. He doesn't want to see it again. Knowing that one of his ancestors received the Order of the Garter makes him feel very unaccomplished. What can he ever do to better that?

Fenris knows a place that does good coffee – he looked it up on Tripadvisor before they came out. He has no interest in subpar coffee, he says, and Hawke comes over all lovesick puppy again, but manages to rein it in. 

Drinks in hand, they walk along the river, talking. 

“It's strange to be back here,” Fenris says, coming to a stop and leaning on the railing. He sips his black coffee. “I used to live here.”

“Oh?” Hawke says, carefully. He's pried enough for today. He'd love for Fenris to open up to him, but he doesn't want to push. 

"For about a week. With a foster family," he says, gazing out at the opposite bank. Hawke looks down at him; he had no idea that Fenris had even been in foster homes, or why. Instead of asking questions, he decides to listen. "When I was fourteen. The dad found me kissing his son and threw me out. He didn't believe me when I said his son started it."

Hawke's not sure what to say, and as always happens in those situations, he says something stupid. "When I was fourteen, I would have wanted to kiss you." _Shit, shit, why did I just say that-_

"Fourteen year old me would have wanted to kiss you, too," Fenris says, softly, still looking out at the river. Hawke can't breathe. Fenris – did Fenris really just-? "But he would've been bad for you – he was bad for everyone. Especially himself."

Hawke bites his lip. It seems Fenris had a pretty shitty childhood. It stirs his protectiveness; he wants Fenris to be safe. Happy. He still doesn't know what to say, so he puts a hand to Fenris's back. He goes tense and Hawke's about to pull away, apologise, but then he lets out a breath, relaxing under Hawke's hand. Still leaning on the railing, he looks at him. After a moment, he gives a smile like a winter morning. 

“I wonder if twenty-seven year old me will be any better for you,” he says, and Hawke smiles, delight spilling through him.

“I'd like to find out.”

Fenris doesn't say anything to that, but he's still smiling as he starts walking again. 

They're already late back to meet Isabela at the house, but somehow Hawke can't see her minding more alone time with Bethany. He's still not sure he's ready for the idea of the two of them as a couple, but since after today, the possibility of himself and Fenris getting together has gone up, he thinks he's ready to give them a chance. 

After saying goodbye to Bethany and Sam, they get into the car and head home. 

Hawke drops Isabela off first and then heads to Hackney. He pulls up outside Fenris's flat, and they sit there for a moment. Hawke tries to think of something to say, but Fenris gets there first. 

"We should do something like this again, Hawke. I'm surprised by how much I enjoy spending time with you."

"Charming."

"No, I meant - I'm sorry, I'm bad at this. I'm bad at _people_. Most of the time I don't like them much. But I – well, I already said it in Windsor. I like you."

"I don't think I could ever get tired of hearing you say that,” Hawke says, and it is one hundred percent true. “And I'll say it again, too: I like you, Fenris."

They look at each other then, and Hawke's pretty sure that it's for a more-than-friends amount of time. But Fenris's eyes are so fucking pretty, _he's_ so fucking pretty, and Hawke could look at him forever. He wants to do more than look, and Fenris is _right there_ , but Hawke can't move. He could just lean in and kiss him, or he could take his hand, or touch his cheek, or any number of delightful things but – he just _can't_. 

The moment ends when Fenris looks away, but he's still smiling that little smile. “Thank you for today, Hawke,” he says. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“For your coffee.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Have a good night, Fenris.”

When he gets out of the car, Hawke collapses against the steering wheel.

Should've kissed him. 

Should've done _anything_.

Still. Fenris said he wanted to do this again. He has another chance.

As Hawke pulls away from the curb, he makes a promise to himself that next time, he's going to make a move.


	10. Chapter 10

Hawke's dyslexic, along with a few other things with longer names. He always hated it in university - they'd hand out his worksheets first, printed especially on blue paper to make it easier for him to read. He hated being marked out as different so publicly, felt like everyone was judging him. As he's gotten older he cares less about that – being able to read easily is more important than his ego – but every so often he'll feel that pang of self-consciousness. 

He feels it now. 

Since he's in front of some of the most important people in London, he's already on edge. All of them know who he is, but none of them know why they should listen to him. Hawke's not sure either. So when the chair hands him his blue agenda he feels that tug of self-consciousness again.

He plays with the staple in the top corner as the rest of the papers are passed around, and goes through the speech in his head for the hundredth time. It's important that they listen to him. That they stop bickering and work together. But how can he convince them that he's important enough to listen to, when he doesn't even feel it himself?

He looks up, over at Aveline. She's watching him; she's known him longer than almost anyone, other than his family, and she knows his tells. She can tell how tightly wound he is right now - he hopes no-one else can. But she gives him a smile, and a nod - _you can do it, Hawke_ , that nod says, and Hawke thinks - yes. I can.

The chair introduces everyone, goes over some matters from a previous meeting, and then it's Hawke's turn.

He stands, and speaks - and they listen. Whether or not they'll actually act on any of his suggestions, they _listen_ , some of them agree, and that's more than Hawke expected.

When the meeting's over he feels a little faint, and half-collapses on a bench outside, overlooking the Thames. A few minutes later, Aveline sits next to him, offers him a cup of coffee from one of the food trucks. He sips it; it's nowhere near as good as Fenris's lattes, but it'll do.

"That went well," she says. "Even Meredith was paying attention."

"She was sneering."

"She sneers at everybody, constantly. But she didn't interrupt you, and believe me, that's a feat."

Hawke looks up at her, and something in how _easy_ she looks, how relaxed, makes him laugh. She raises and eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head.

"It's just - I was in there, quaking in my seat, and you're so _calm_. So in control. I envy you, Aveline."

"Calm? I don't know about that. I just hide my worries well."

They sit there for a while, watching people take photographs of Tower Bridge, of the Tower of London itself across the water. Hawke drinks his adequate coffee, and listens to Aveline talking about her dog. She's pregnant apparently - the dog, not Aveline.

"Would you like a puppy, when they arrive? You're always talking about your family dog."

 _Yes,_ Hawke almost says, his heart leaping at the prospect of a puppy. It wouldn't be cheating on Sam – there's no way Hawke could have him in his flat, but Aveline has a spaniel, much smaller than Sam but just as friendly. He thinks about taking it for a walk, about having it in the apartment and never being alone. Dogs are good for that. Not to mention that Fenris likes dogs.

 _Seriously?_

"I'd love to, but I'll have to check with my landlord. I don't think we're supposed to, really, but I know my upstairs neighbour has a cat."

"Anders has a cat?"

"He's a cat person."

Aveline nods. "Yes, I can definitely see that. What's it called?"

"Ser Pounce-a-Lot."

There's a beat of silence, and then Aveline says, "Anders is a strange man."

Hawke chuckles, feeling infinitely more relaxed now. There's still work to do – some emails he needs to reply to, some reports to type up, but he doesn't feel on the verge of a panic attack any more.

"Why don't we go to the pub tonight?" He says as they stand and dispose of their coffee cups. "I think we could both do with a drink after today."

"Good idea. I'll invite Isabela. Who'll probably invite Varric."

"I... might invite someone," Hawke says, and Aveline gives him a grin worthy of Isabela.

"A certain someone with tattoos? That you still haven't asked out?"

"Maybe," Hawke says, and Aveline pulls her phone out of her bag.

"I'm telling Isabela. That means you have to bring him."

"Aveline!" Maybe that's just what he needs, though. It's been a week and a half since Windsor. Fenris couldn't make it to the Hanged Man last Friday, so they've only seen each other for coffee-related reasons. He takes out his own phone and types _Going out for a drink tonight, fancy coming along???_ and then hits send before he can change his mind. Once it's gone he feels an echo of the anxiety from the meeting, an _oh god of course he doesn't, why am i bothering him_.

"Isabela's in. She says she'll invite Varric and someone called Zev."

"Zev? I know him." 

Knows him intimately, in fact. They kind of slept together. Definitely slept together. Repeatedly. 

Zev's one of Isabela's friends. He's as easy going as she is, and as friendly, and after a few pints, they ended up in a huge bed at some fancy hotel near the Docklands. He was only in town for a week, and Hawke has never had so much sex in so short a space of time before or since. Zev is Spanish, he's gorgeous, and he's a lot of fun. It was years ago, but they're Facebook friends and they chat every so often, meet up whenever he's in town. No sex, though, which is a shame because Zev is _really_ good in bed. He's married now, to an Irish guy with some hippy name that would fit right in at Deep Roads. It'll be great to see him again. 

"So it's you, me, Isabela, Varric and this Zev - and Fenris?"

Right on cue, Hawke's pocket buzzes.

 _Oh god what if he says no,_ Hawke thinks, and feels like he's fifteen again. He fishes his phone out and hits the home key.

 ** _Fenris_** _(15:48)_  
_Sounds good. When and where?_

Hawke grins. Aveline notices.

"I'll take that as a yes. Six at the Hanged Man?"

"Great," Hawke says, and lets Fenris know.

===

They're crowded into their usual booth at the Hanged Man. On one side, Fenris and Hawke, Aveline and Varric. It means that Hawke is sitting _very_ close to Fenris, and since they've already had a good few drinks, Fenris keeps leaning against him, his hair brushing Hawke's cheek. It's nice. Really, really nice. 

On the other side is Isabela, with Zev and his husband. Zev is handsome and knows it, and even more charming than he is handsome. He's blond, with light brown eyes, and his skin's a little darker than Fenris's. He's short, but strong, and has a tendancy towards flamboyant clothes. Tonight's outfit of choice includes a red silk shirt with a gold and white paisley pattern on it. On anyone else, it'd look hideous, but somehow Zev makes it work. 

"...and I _have_ always had impeccable luck. We had a lot of fun that night, let me tell you," Zev says, finishing his anecdote with a laugh. Mahariel smirks - that's his husband, and yes, that name would absolutely fit in at Deep Roads. Maha, as he prefers to be called, is porcelain-pale, with dark auburn hair and green eyes; very Irish. His left ear has a nick cut out of it – looks painful – and he's wearing a flashy earring that Hawke is sure Zev was wearing last time he saw him. He has a sleeve tattoo of a woodland scene. Zev's work, apparently - a wedding present. They are an incredible looking couple. Hawke wonders if he and Fenris look as good

Not that they're a couple. Just that Fenris is by his side, and-

He wonders what they look like. Together. Sitting next to each other.

"It's always fun with you, Zev," Isabela laughs, and kisses his cheek.

"You should know," he says, and grins over at Hawke. "As should you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hawke notices Fenris's eyebrows raise.

"But that was a long time ago, hmm?" Zev says, and takes Maha's hand, kissing the back of it. "I am devoted to my darling husband. Monogamy suits me, don't you think? Then again, _everything_ suits me."

Maha rolls his eyes. "What a romantic," he says, reaching for the shared bag of crisps in the middle of the table and feeding one to Zev. "Besides, not _completely_ monogamous - we have fun with other people sometimes. Like with Alistair."

"Oh, Alistair," Zev sighs, looking dreamy, and the two of them grin at each other but don't expand on the subject. Hawke wonders who Alistair is, and thinks that he's a lucky bastard.

Fenris's eyebrows are still raised, and Hawke feels the need to explain. 

"Me and Zev had a bit of fun five years ago," Hawke says, and Isabela kicks him under the table. Was it a bad idea to talk about this? Probably. He can't seem to stop, though. "He was over here for a week. It was like a holiday romance right here in London." Isabela kicks him again.

Fenris looks at him, silent for a few breaths, but then he smirks. "Rainier, I image."

"It might have been rainier then, but Hawke's been having dry spell recently," Isabela says, and then laughs at her own terrible weather based pun. "How long has it been, Hawke? A year?"

"We are not having this conversation," Hawke says quickly, and Isabela laughs harder.

"A year? What a terrible waste of a handsome man," Fenris says, leaning against him again, and Hawke grins at him, because did he really just say that? Did Fenris really just say that to him?

"Sorry, I don't think I caught that last bit. Could you repeat it?"

Fenris laughs, and shakes his head. "I'm sure I don't need to repeat the obvious, Hawke," he says, and it's avoiding repeating the words but it's reinforcing them, too, and Hawke's not sure he's ever been so happy in his life. 

“Anyway, Hawke!” Zev says, and points at Hawke's arm. It's hot in here, especially crowded as they are, so Hawke's down to his t-shirt. That might possibly be a little to do with Fenris's arm thing, too. Because Fenris really does have an arm thing. He keeps looking at them, and he's even run his fingers down Hawke's bicep a few times, leading Isabela to high five him when Fenris went to the bathroom. 

_For god's sake, Hawke, he likes you so fucking much, what are you waiting for?_ That's what she asked, and Hawke honestly doesn't have a good answer. 

“Sorry, what?” Hawke asks, suddenly aware that Zev's asked a question while his thoughts have been full of Fenris. 

“I said, you didn't have that tattoo when we were-” He gives a lavacious wink. “Intimate. That was the last time I saw your arms, I think, which is a tragedy.”

“Uh, yeah. I got it a few months after that. It's from this video game, _The Champion of Kirkwall.”_

“Of course it is,” Zev says, a smile dancing over his lips. “I forgot what a terrible dork you are.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing. But it's a great game! I look like the Champion. And Fenris looks like the elf.”

Fenris laughs, and Hawke can feel his body shaking against his arm. He turns to beam at him, and Fenris tilts his head and smiles lazily at him. Oh, wow. He looks – he looks really good like that. 

“I see. I'm going to look it up,” Zev says. He has his phone out, and Maha and Isabela are looking over his shoulder. “You do look like him! Handsome, rugged, strong – I should play this game. What's the elf called – ah, never mind, there he is.”

“Oh my god, he really does look like you, Fenris!” Isabela says, wrestling the phone from Zev's grip. She shows it to Aveline and Varric, who look between the elf and Fenris and agree that they do indeed look alike, apart from the pointy ears, while Maha and Zev whisper to each other. 

“That's it. I'm calling you _elf_ from now on, Fenris,” Varric says, getting his own phone out. “I gotta make some notes about this."

“Really,” Hawke says, finishing his drink. “I don't think either me or Fenris want to be in your next novel.”

“You say that now, but you loved being in _Siege Harder.”_

It's true. He did. 

“You know, Hawke,” Zev says, with a smile that can only be described as sultry. “Maha and I – we'd like to get to know more about this _Champion_. Later, perhaps you could share with us, hmm?”

Isabela glares at him, but before she can speak, Fenris leans forward slightly and says, his voice sharp, “That depends. How much do you wish to test that luck of yours?”

Hawke blinks.

What the fuck?

Was that – did Fenris just-?

“Oh, I see! Fair enough,” he says, and kisses Maha. “I didn't realise. Here, let me get you a drink as an apology.”

He pushes Maha towards the bar, and Hawke summons enough courage to look at Fenris. He's frowning – he was _jealous!_

“It was a long time ago,” Hawke says. “I'm not interested in Zev.”

“Good,” Fenris says, still with a little heat in his voice.

 _I'm interested in you,_ Hawke thinks, but he can't quite force the words out. Instead he touches Fenris's forearm, trailing a finger down the main line of his tattoo. His skin is warm under Hawke's fingers, and the tattoo is raised slightly. It shouldn't be intimate at all, being such a simple touch, being that they're in public and surrounded by people who are watching them and doing a terrible job of pretending not to. But Fenris's eyes are on Hawke's fingers, and then lift to meet his as Hawke's hand covers his own. They're dark, his pupils wide, and Hawke wants him more than he can remember wanting anyone. His heart is racing, his fingers are entwined with Fenris's. They sit there, staring at each other, and it's far, far hotter than it has any right to be. 

“Here we are,” Zev says, spoiling the moment, and sliding their drinks towards them. 

“You have the worst timing,” Isabela tells him, and Zev grins. 

“That's not what you used to say.”

Fenris is looking away, and he's blushing, and as hot as that is, Hawke's kind of embarrassed too because he can't believe that just happened in public. It was just a simple touch but at the same time it was-

Hawke grabs his drink and takes a few gulps. He needs to calm down. 

Which is when Isabela starts laughing hysterically. She's looking at something on her phone, and Hawke isn't sure he wants to know what. 

“Everything alright, my dear?” Zev asks her as he sits back down. Still laughing, she hands him the phone, and his eyebrows raise as he flicks through whatever's on the screen. Maha looks too and then gives a snort of a laugh before taking the phone off him. Zev gives another of those sensual smiles at Hawke, and then Fenris. For a moment, Hawke's half afraid Zev's going to proposition both of them this time, but instead he says, “Did you know, Hawke, that there is some rather _sexual_ art of your Champion and his elf?”

Hawke stares.

Varric laughs.

Aveline says _What!?_

_”Very_ sexual,” Zevran says, upgrading it as he looks over Maha's shoulder. 

“It really looks like you two,” Maha adds, helpfully. 

Hawke, of course, was aware of the presence of erotic _Champion_ fanart. He's even reblogged some on his secret Tumblr that he's never giving out to anyone. But not recently, and he's certainly never thought of it in terms of him and Fenris. Oh god – what is Fenris making of this!?

He risks a glance at him, and sees him smirking. Hawke would bet money that Fenris has also seen some of that same fanart. Maybe he even has his own secret Tumblr account.

“I can't believe this is happening,” Hawke says, and Fenris looks up at him. 

“Really? I've only known your friends a few months, and I absolutely can.”

He's right, of course. This is absolutely in character. 

Aveline is sitting up stock-straight. “Is this entirely appropriate?” She asks, and Isabela grabs her phone from Maha, turning it around so that Aveline can see the screen. 

“You tell me, Big Girl.”

It's the Champion. Half naked, on his knees, in front of the elf who is entirely naked, with his head thrown back and his mouth open. The Champion's lips are around the elf's cock, and fucking hell, it really, really looks like a picture of Hawke giving Fenris a blow job. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Hawke says, hiding his face in his hands. By his side Fenris is laughing, but he's bright red, and this is simultaneously hilarious and terrible. 

“That's it,” Aveline says, taking the phone off Isabela. “I'm confiscating this. You can have this back at the end of the night.”

“A wise choice,” Zev says. “I fear we have defeated our Champion.”

“It's Isabela's fault,” Hawke moans. “Why would you show us that?”

“To give you ideas?” Isabela says, because she is _evil_.

“Isabela!” Aveline says. “Stop that right now or I'm taking your drink away as well.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“Try me.” That's Aveline's Superintendent Vallen voice, one Hawke knows well from work, and not even Isabela is willing to talk back to that. 

Thank god for Aveline. 

Conversation returns to more normal topics, though Hawke doesn't think he's going to stop blushing ever again. 

When that drink's finished, Hawke and Fenris leave together so that they can get the last train. 

“I'm so sorry about that,” he says to Fenris as they step outside. 

“Not your fault,” Fenris says, and then gives a chuckle. “It was rather funny. Funny and horrifically embarrassing.”

“I didn't even dream they'd start looking up fanart when I said that we looked like the characters,” Hawke moans, and then shakes his head. “I should've known better. This _is_ Isabela we're talking about.”

“It was certainly an experience, I'll say that.”

It's a ten minute walk to the station, and they manage to talk about normal things, like normal people. Perhaps Hawke can give Isabela a lesson. There's one good thing about this – surely she's now finished messing with him for being so overprotective about Bethany, because that was at least tenfold payback. 

There's a train in the station when they get there, and they get on with all the other drunks and a few long-suffering late night workers, and stand near the doors. It's crowded, and they're kind of close. Fenris moves his hair out of his eyes, and Hawke sees a flash of white there, under his bangs.

"Another tattoo?" Hawke asks, and Fenris's gaze darts up at him, guarded, and Hawke swears colourfully at himself. Whenever he's making progress with Fenris, every single time he says or does something that gets his guard up again. 

"I - yes," Fenris says after a moment, seeming to relax again. He leans in closer, like he's sharing a secret, and parts his hair so that Hawke can see the three white dots there. Without thinking, Hawke lifts a hand and touches them with his index and middle fingers. As soon as he realises what he's done, he starts to move away, an apology on his lips, but then he sees that Fenris is smiling. His eyes are closed and he's sort of leaning into Hawke's touch, lifting his head. Hawke's not sure what it means, but he trails his hand down Fenris's cheek, over his lips, traces Fenris's smile. His heart hurts, a little, doing that, especially when it makes Fenris smile wider. "Hawke," he says, and Hawke can feel his name beneath his fingers.

"Fenris," he whispers, tracing his jaw, and Fenris looks up at him. In the midst of the chaos and bustle of the last train of the night, this is their moment, just the two of them, and Fenris is all Hawke can see. The white hair, the tattoos, and the eyes, _oh_ , those forest green eyes. "I think you're handsome, too."

"Glad to hear it," Fenris says, and then tilts his head upwards again, puts a hand to the back of Hawke's neck, and gently tugs him down. Hawke goes, feeling dazed, and their lips touch, a gentle little kiss, another, another. The train rocks Hawke forward against Fenris, who puts his hand to Hawke's hip, keeping him close. There are more sweet kisses, almost chaste, but not quite. It's so good; it's perfect. Hawke's not entirely sure this is actually happening, but if this is a dream it's a good one.

It doesn't last long, since Fenris gets off at the first stop, but when the doors open and a group of men singing _Come On, Eileen_ push past them, Fenris says, slightly breathless,

"Let's do this again sometime," and he _really_ kisses him then, brief, slick, and so hot that it makes Hawke's half-hard cock throb fully erect.

"Please," he says, and swallows as Fenris steps off the train before the doors close.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Hawke," he says, and lifts a hand to wave as the doors slide shut. Hawke waves back, and they stare at each other as the train pulls away.

"Oh my god," he murmurs to himself, feeling dazed, and touches his lips, which are grinning. "Oh my god!"

Fenris kissed him. He showed him a secret tattoo, and he kissed him, and this is definitely the best night ever. He considers texting Isabela and sharing the celebration - but no. This is his. Theirs.

He goes home, grins at himself in the mirror, and then falls into bed, naked, wrapping a hand around his cock and wanking while thinking of white hair and soft lips and forehead tattoos, and he whispers _Fenris_ as he comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, am I right!? xD
> 
> It was so fun to write Zevran in this chapter, I love him so much omg. If you're interested in knowing what Maha looks like, [here is an amaaazing commission of my Mahariel and Zev](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/122709104115/dorian-trash-commission-done-for).
> 
> AND - this is very important - there is now an amazing, [giffed piece of fanart for this fic](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/127596765665/you-are-going-to-ruin-me-you-realise). I'm so happy. You should all check it out for sure.


	11. Chapter 11

It's the night of Varric's annual Christmas party. 

Hawke's currently in his flat with Anders, having a pre-party drink, because Fenris will be there. It's been a week and a half since the kiss on the train, and Hawke still hasn't found the courage to ask him out. He's not seen him at all, other than for coffee-related reasons, and he's very aware that he needs to do something, and quickly, or this thing is going to stall out before it even goes anywhere. 

Alcohol, he's decided, will help with that.

“So," Anders says. "You've kissed Fenris and you're _still_ being like this?”

“You're not supposed to know about the kiss,” Hawke says. “Don't tell Isabela, please. And that makes it even _more_ important that I don't screw this up. I want to kiss him again. Repeatedly. So I just need to relax.”

“That's true enough.” Anders sips his beer. He's coming to the party too. He met Varric when they were dating, and if anything, they get on better than Hawke and Anders ever did. It makes Hawke weirdly jealous. “I'm looking forward to meeting Fenris, after hearing you talk about him so much. I don't even know what he looks like.”

“I have a picture,” Hawke says, picking his phone up off the table. 

“Really? You're already at the taking photos of each other stage-?” Anders sees that it's the picture from Pride, and laughs. “Oh. Still at the being-a-stalker stage.”

“Merrill sent me that because of her and Lyna! It's a nice picture!”

“I'm sure she did, Hawke.” Anders taps at the screen, zooming in on Fenris's face. It's a little blurry, but he still looks amazing, if a little annoyed. “What's that?” He asks, pointing at Fenris's chin. 

"Tattoos! He has them everywhere. They're nice."

"Face tattoos?" Anders looks at him in disbelief. "Hawke, you're dating someone with _face tattoos?"_

Hawke shrugs, and says, “We're not dating,” because they're not. They've kissed, but no date has happened as of yet. Not that he'd be against dating, at all, and he has no problems with any of Fenris's tattoos. 

Anders just snorts and hands the phone back to him, sighing and giving Hawke a disapproving look. "You have terrible taste in men, Hawke."

"You'd know," Hawke says lightly, and Anders glares at him.

"It's just- _Face tattoos_ , Hawke!"

"They suit him," Hawke says, and doesn't want to talk about it further. He gets what Anders is trying to say - it is pretty extreme. But it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. "Anyway, Anders - why don't you tell me about your love life? What's his name – Nate?"

“Oh, please. Nate's just a friend. Who I occasionally have amazing sex with.” Hawke knows, he's overheard – he couldn't _help_ but overhear. “But that's all it was. Sex. I don't have time for anything else right now.”

“Just really loud sex,” Hawke says, finishing his beer. “Like, so loud.”

“You're just jealous you're not there yet,” he says, and Hawke can't disagree.

===

Varric's apartment is, quite frankly, palatial. He says he won it in a bet. That must have been some bet, Hawke thinks as he and Anders are greeted by Bianca, and wonders what Varric would have given up if he'd lost.

"Finally, kitten," Isabela says, sashaying up to them. It's possibly she might have had a little to drink already, too. She looks gorgeous in a white sweater dress, with a wide blue belt. Her eyes are lined and her hair tumbles over her shoulders. 

"Sorry. We had a drink at home, then we got held up buying booze." He lifts the plastic bag that's full of beer bottles. 

"You shouldn't have bothered, Varric's bar is magnificent, and that's _me_ saying that."

"Must be impressive," Hawke says, and starts scanning the room.

"He's near the balcony," Isabela says, correctly guessing what - who - he's looking for. And he is. The lighting in the apartment is stylishly dim, but Fenris's pale hair is instantly recognisable. "You should go and say hello. He was asking after you."

"Oh?" Hawke says, doing his best, terrible impression of nonchalance. The sudden rush of nerves makes him wish he'd had more than one pre-party drink. "Then I'll just, uh. Yeah."

"You do that," she says, winking at him and leading Anders away.

For a moment all Hawke can do is stand there like a deer in headlights. All he can think of is the kiss and how much he really, really wants to do it again tonight.

"You brought more drinks, Hawke?" Varric asks, materialising by his side.

"Yes! Yes, here you go." He hands it over, and Varric puts it on a table already overflowing with bottles of every shape and size. He then follows the direction of Hawke's gaze and chuckles.

"That sure was an experience last week.” He opens a couple of beer bottles and grins. “So after you left – did you end up acting out that fanart?"

"What?! No! Varric!"

Varric chuckles. "Too bad. Maybe tonight." He presses a bottle into Hawke's hand, who immediately drinks half of it in one go. "Nervous?"

"Who, me?"

“Seriously, Hawke. Watching the two of you is _painful_. All that lustful gazing. The sensuous touching. The want, arcing between you like electricity-”

“Alright, Varric, less of the purple prose, please.”

“Oh Hawke, that's only the beginning,” Varric promises. “Now get over there and give me more material.”

Hawke glares at him, but goes. As he walks over, he has to admire the tasteful Christmas decorations. Some matte green and gold bunting hanging from the ceiling, and a large but classy Christmas tree, festooned with tiny baubles and fairy lights. Fenris is standing beside it, with Merrill and Tamlen, and the fairy lights twinkle in his eyes. Hawke takes another gulp of beer. God, he's beautiful. 

"Ohhh, hello Hawke!" Merrill says, and hugs him, tightly. Well. That was unexpected. He's never had a Merrill hug before. She's tiny - she barely comes up to his chest. He pats her back and she looks up at him, beaming. "Fenris is here!"

"I know, I can see him," Hawke says, being that Fenris is right behind her.

"Oh! Yes. Doesn't he look handsome?"

Hawke honestly can't tell if this is part of a ploy to get him and Fenris together, or whether it's because of the amount of alcohol that she's clearly been drinking.

"Very," Hawke says, and Fenris smirks at his answer.

"And you are handsome too, of course! With your beard!” She pats it. It's incredibly awkward. “And Tamlen is lovely too," she says, turning to smile at him. He's blushing. Her arm is still around Hawke's waist and he nods at the balcony.

"Why don't we get a bit of fresh air, Merrill?" Hawke suggests, and she nods, saying something about how pretty the view is from Varric's balcony.

"I'll get her some water," Fenris says, as Hawke leads her outside.

Varric's balcony is huge, taking up the whole length of the flat. Tucked away at the far end of the balcony there are the things that belong to summer – hammocks, a barbecue, parasols - hibernating for the winter. There are a pair of love seats and a table at this end, with a large concrete fire pit for warmth. 

"I think that cocktail might've been a bit stronger than I thought it was," Merrill says, sitting down in one of the wicker love seats and pulling a blanket over herself. "Maybe I shouldn't have had a whole pitcher to myself."

"Possibly not," Hawke says.

"It was tasty though," she sighs, as then smiles at Tamlen. "You have such pretty hair, Tamlen. I'd like to braid it."

"I'm not sure I have enough hair to braid," he says, but sits down by her side when she pats the seat. Fenris comes back with a large glass of water and a plate of food for her.

"Thank you, Fenris! You're a good friend," she says sincerely, and drinks the water.

It's chilly on the balcony but Hawke wants to stay out here and keep an eye on her. Not that he doesn't trust Tamlen, but Merrill is seriously wasted.

So he and Fenris move to the railing, to give all of them a little more privacy. Merrill was right about the view. In the distance they can see the lights of Canary Wharf sparkling like stars. It's almost romantic, Hawke thinks, looking at Fenris out of the corner of his eye. 

"Looks like you've been having a good night," Hawke says.

"Not nearly as good as Merrill," Fenris says, with a soft breath of a laugh. Fenris has so many different laughs, Hawke thinks. He wants to hear them all. He wants to _cause_ them all. "What about you?"

"Me and Anders – that's my upstairs neighbour – were having a drink at home before we came out.”

“I don't think you needed to. Varric's got enough alcohol here to survive the apocalypse.”

“Lots of alcohol and a handsome man by my side? That's my kind of apocalypse.” Hawke blinks. The words came out without planning, but that was flirting, right? Charming, maybe? 

“Mine too,” Fenris says, and shifts a little closer to Hawke so that their arms are touching. 

Hawke smiles. The pre-party drink was _definitely_ a good idea.

After a while Varric comes out onto the balcony, bearing top-ups – ever the perfect host – and brings Merrill some coffee. 

“Th-thank you, Varric,” she says with chattering teeth, and Varric frowns at her. 

“Come inside, Daisy, it's freezing out here.”

“What a good idea, Varric! Don't you think that's a good idea, Tamlen?”

His hair has small braids dotted here and there that swing as he nods. “Definitely.” He stands and offers her a hand up, blushing when she takes it. Tamlen's terrible efforts at courtship make Hawke feel better about his own – at least there's _someone_ in the world worse at this than he is. The three of them head inside, Merrill chattering about candles. 

“Do you want to go in?” Hawke asks, but Fenris shakes his head. 

“I'm good here, for now.”

Hawke gestures at the chair Tamlen and Merrill just vacated. They sit, and Hawke puts the blanket over both of their legs. It's a little bit small, especially since Hawke is ridiculously huge, so he scoots up until his left leg is against Fenris's right, and he has to put his arm over the back of the chair.

“I feel like a teenager at a date at the movies,” he says, and Fenris laughs, looking up at Hawke. 

“If you want to put your arm around me, you can do.”

“Oh?” Hawke lowers his arm, emboldened by the beers. He has _got_ this. Fenris is warm beneath him, and shifts a little closer to Hawke to get more comfortable. 

“So, uh, how's your week been?” _Smooth, Hawke._ And he was doing so well.

“Not bad. I went to the cinema last night. Watched Mad Max. My friend wanted to go because she wants to make it the film she's seen at the cinema the most times."

"And how many is that?"

"Nine."

"That's impressive. The thing I saw most times at the cinema - hmm, Fellowship of the Ring. Five times. But I was working at the cinema at the time so I'm not sure it counts."

Fenris leans against Hawke a little more, and Hawke's heart races. He's so _close_. Hawke can smell his hair – it's coconutty. The scent of coconut has never been sexy to Hawke before, but it sure as hell is right now. Especially when Fenris sips his wine and licks a little off his top lip. Hawke follows the movement, swallows. 

"For me it was the second Sherlock Holmes film. Three times. Not because I especially liked it, but I'd just moved to Spain and it was the only movie they were showing in English. My Spanish wasn't up to much at that point."

"Is it now?"

"Si," Fenris says, and smirks. "I lived there for six months, and then moved to Mexico for the next eight. I had practice."

"You moved around a lot, then?"

"For a while," Fenris says and shrugs. He ticks them off on his fingers. "Italy, Slovakia, Germany, Spain, Mexico, Canada, Iceland, New Zealand, and then back here."

"That's amazing," Hawke says, suddenly feeling like he's led a very boring life. "The only time I lived abroad was four months in Sydney. Part of my degree."

Fenris shrugs, finishing his wine and setting his glass on the table. "I think I was trying to find myself. Or maybe I was just running away." There's a look in his eyes - hard, sharp, brittle - and Hawke remembers how he slammed his walls up when asked about _home_ back in Windsor. There's a story there, an unpleasant one, and though Hawke feels a prickle of curiosity, he's not fool enough to ask.

"You know Spanish - any others? Are you a secret language genius?"

Fenris laughs then, a real laugh, and the smile he gives Hawke warms him on this cold night. "I don't know about that. But I speak Italian, German, Spanish and Icelandic. Some Slovak and some Portuguese. And English, of course."

“That's amazing!” Hawke can't help grinning. The more he finds out about Fenris, the more he likes him. And the way he's so private – it _means_ something when he lets Hawke know a little about himself. "The only language I speak is English. I knew Russian when I was a kid but barely remember any of it. I keep meaning to take a class, but-" He shrugs.

"Russian?"

"Yeah, my grandparents on my dad's side were Russian. Came here during the Cold War. They refused to speak to us in anything but Russian when we were kids - said they wanted us to learn our heritage."

Fenris cocks his head, grins. "I think you'd suit speaking Russian. It's the beard, I think."

Hawke laughs and leans a little closer, his heart racing from a dangerous combination of nervousness and excitement. "Oh? Isabela says it makes me look like a sexy lumberjack."

"Hmm." Fenris leans a little closer too, until Hawke can feel his breath on his lips. "I agree." He lifts a hand, runs it over Hawke's beard, and Hawke has to try very hard not to groan. 

Instead he leans in, just a little, and Fenris leans in too. This is happening, the tube kiss was not just a one off, this is actually happening. He leans a bit closer, their lips brush-

Then the balcony doors slam open and Hawke yelps as he jerks back, staring wide-eyed at Anders who staggers onto the balcony.

"Jesus Christ, Hawke, it's hot in there - oh." Anders says, and his eyes narrow at Fenris, who glares right back, apparently pissed off at being interrupted.

"I think I need a refill," Fenris says, grabbing his glass and going inside.

"Thanks a lot, Anders," Hawke scowls.

"Sorry," Anders says, shrugging, like he doesn't understand the consequences of his actions, that he just interrupted a very important Fenris-kiss.

Hawke follows Fenris inside, sees him at the food table, putting a selection of tiny cake slices on a plate. When Hawke joins him, he gives him a half-smile.

"Your friend has terrible timing."

"Agreed. You like Merlot, right?"

"You remembered what I drink?"

"Well, you remember _my_ drink."

"That's my job, Hawke."

Hawke shrugs and turns to the bar, looking through the bottles until he finds a half-empty bottle of Merlot. Fenris is by his side now, watching as he pours. When he hands him his glass, Fenris smirks.

"It's a shame there aren't the ingredients for a Screaming Orgasm."

Hawke swallows. Well _that_ demands a response, doesn't it? That's flirting, plain as day, and Hawke needs to flirt back. _Come on, you can do this, you nearly just kissed him, you can manage a bit of bloody banter_. "Do you want me to give you a Screaming Orgasm, Fenris?"

"I would like that very much, Hawke. More than one, in fact."

That's officially too much for Hawke to deal with, and he takes several large gulps of beer.

They do the socialising thing for a little while, checking up on Merrill first, pleased to hear that she's booked a taxi home. Varric asks for information about the local gangs, again – for his next book, apparently, he's been asking for weeks – and Hawke tells him to ask Aveline, again. Fenris frowns, but before Hawke can ask why, Isabela throws her arms around Hawke's waist. She smells of rum, and as she kisses his cheek, she whispers, loudly, 

“I kissed Beth last night, kitten. Your sister is an _amazing_ kisser.”

Fenris sees his reaction – bemused and shocked with a generous splash of over-protectiveness – and leads him away to a dim corner of the room to chat. It's nice, chatting, especially when Varric brings them another top up. Hawke's vaguely aware that he's at the stage of drunk where another drink is simultaneously a bad idea and an amazing idea, but drinking has brought him this far. In alcohol he trusts. 

Fenris starts talking about post-rock music. Hawke doesn't know any of the bands he's talking about, but he would literally listen to Fenris talk about anything. 

After Varric's left them, they barely have ten minutes alone before Isabela runs up to them and Hawke tries not to sigh. Why are all his friends being such cockblocks tonight?!

"Fenris," she says. "Take a step back."

Fenris looks behind him. There's nothing there, other than an exposed brick wall a few feet away, and he looks at her.

"Come on, trust me. Just one step."

After a moment, he does, and then looks at her expectantly, as does Hawke. She points upwards, and they look up - to see a small spring of green with white berries tied to the ceiling.

"Is that - mistletoe?" Fenris asks, and Isabela nods, grinning.

"It is. Have fun, boys."

She takes the plate from Fenris's hands and eats the last slice of cake as she walks away. Which leaves Hawke with Fenris and the mistletoe.

"So, uh, I - it would be traditional for me to kiss you, wouldn't it?" He says, and Fenris nods.

"It would. Do you want to?"

"God, yes. Uh. Do you?"

"Very much." He doesn't move though. He's leaving it up to Hawke this time.

 _I can do this,_ Hawke thinks, and finishes his beer, putting it down on the table and setting Fenris's mostly-empty glass beside it. He steps forward and takes a shaky breath. Fenris is looking up at him, lips parted slightly. Hawke can hear his breathing, a little fast, and wonders if he's nervous, too. If he wants Hawke as much as Hawke wants him. If he aches with it. 

“Kiss me, Hawke,” he says, groans, _begs_ , and Hawke nods, leaning down. 

Fenris's lips are soft. He tastes like wine, and he's warm, Hawke is kissing him and he's kissing back, fucking _finally_. Fenris moves a little closer so that their bodies are pressed together, and Hawke realises with a shiver that Fenris's body is lean and strong, like a swimmer. He wants to see him naked, so much.

Fenris nips at Hawke's bottom lip, drawing out a noise of pure arousal. Hawke forgets where they are – or no, he doesn't forget, he just doesn't _care_. The only thing that matters is Fenris, his lips, his tongue, his body.

With something between initiative and drunken lust, Hawke pushes Fenris back against the wall, a little harder than he means to, boxing him in with his arms. Fenris looks up at him, gives a wolfish grin and pulls him close again, kisses him again, and it's good. It's so fucking good.

When they finally pause they're both breathing hard. Fenris pulls back a little, opens his mouth to say something, and then his gaze flicks over Hawke's shoulder. He makes a sound that's not quite a laugh, and winces.

"Do I want to know?" Hawke asks.

"Isabela's giving us a thumbs up."

"Oh, wonderful. All of my friends are being terrible tonight. Again."

Fenris laughs and rests his head against Hawke's chest. "It certainly makes life interesting."

"That's one word for it," Hawke grumbles, and holds Fenris close. He's smiling still, delighted, and he's even more so when Fenris lifts his head and kisses him again.

They take it slower this time, but it's just as hot, long and simmering. Hawke could do this forever, literally forever, but Fenris pulls away, stroking his thumb over the back of Hawke's neck. 

"I hate to do this, but I really need to get the last train."

"It's okay," Hawke says, and as much as he'd really rather keep kissing Fenris, he could do with getting that train too. "Although, I'm, ah-" He tries to think of a polite way of saying that he's incredibly hard. He points down to his crotch, because apparently he's reverted to a shy teenager again, but Fenris catches his meaning.

"Me too."

Not surprising, because that make out session was just _so_ hot, but still - being told that Fenris is hard is - wow. "We could do always do something about that," Hawke says, and realises the second the words are out of his mouth that he might be moving too fast. Apparently so, because Fenris is looking away, frowning ever so slightly, and Hawke's heart drops into his stomach.

"Another time," Fenris says before Hawke can start apologising, and kisses him gently. He steps back - as much as being against the wall will allow him to - and adjusts his jeans. Hawke looks, attention drawn by the movement, and then looks away quickly, thinking _oh my god his cock_.

"We should get our coats," Fenris says. "It'll make it less obvious."

"Good idea."

The coats are in one of the spare rooms. The instant they're in there, Fenris looks at Hawke and then pushes him against the wall, kissing him, pressing their hips together and oh fuck, oh _fuck_ that feels good, especially when Fenris grinds against him, gasping into his mouth, both of them moan together and Hawke hasn't come from doing this since he was sixteen but he's almost certain that he could tonight.

But then Fenris stops, breathing hard, and turns away to look through the coats on the bed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to tease you. You're just-" He shakes his head and makes a guttural, frustrated sound.

Hawke licks his lips, his brain still catching up with the fact that Fenris is no longer pressed up against him. "Charming? Incredibly handsome? Irresistible?"

Fenris looks over his shoulder. "Something like that. You certainly test my self-control."

"It's admirable of you," Hawke says, because what else can he say?

He grabs his coat, then sees Anders's jacket and feels bad for forgetting all about him.

He gets his phone out of his pocket and calls him, for all that he's just in the next room. He's not ready to leave Fenris just yet.

"Did you leave already?" Anders asks without even saying hello. He sounds annoyed and Hawke can't blame him, really.

"No. We're just getting our coats. I'm about to go so that I can get the last train."

"Is he going home with you?"

"No. Are you coming?"

"I don't know, are there going to be awkward PDAs on the train?"

"Come on, Anders. No."

"Fine. But only because I refuse to get the night bus on my own again, not after what happened last time. Get my coat."

When the three of them step outside, the cold air helps a bit. Refreshing. It's still uncomfortable and a little painful, too, with his hard-on pressing against the fly of his jeans. He's grateful that it's not far to the station.

On the train, Fenris says he's only going one stop and then changing lines. Hawke zones out slightly while he looks at the map on the opposite wall, double-checking the best route for him and Anders, but snaps back to the moment when he realises that the men either side of him are practically snarling at each other.

"Whoa, okay, what the hell?" Hawke asks, looking from one to the other. "What's with you two?"

They glare at each other and don't answer.

It's a short journey to the next stop, but the whole time Anders and Fenris are glaring at each other, and Hawke doesn't get it. They've not even spoken until now, as far as he knows. 

As the train pulls into the station, Hawke looks down at Fenris. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

Fenris nods and then kisses him, tongue flicking into his mouth, and Hawke groans embarrassingly loudly. As quickly as it started, Fenris pulls back, Hawke's shirt still clenched in his hands. “Text me, too,” he says, and gets off the train just before the doors close. Hawke watches him go, feeling dazed.

“So much for no PDAs,” Anders sighs. 

Hawke and Anders's journey home is meandering, and they talk, but the whole time Hawke is wondering why Fenris and Anders were so antagonistic. It's only when they're outside their building that something comes to him. It's not because of _him_ , is it? He's not been with Anders for anything other than casual sex in about eighteen months, but, he suddenly realises, neither of them have been in an actual relationship since then. Is he _jealous?_ And Fenris - is he jealous too? But no - he doesn't know Anders is his ex. For once Hawke managed not to blurt out a fact to Fenris.

“Wait,” Hawke says as Anders pulls his keys out of his pocket. “This thing – the way you were with Fenris. This isn't because of _us_ , is it?”

"I'm not jealous, Hawke, if that's what you mean," Anders says, rolling his eyes. "Not everything is about you."

"What? No, I just - it was the only thing I could think that made sense."

Anders unlocks the front door and steps inside. He pauses as Hawke comes in too and locks up.

"Honestly? It was hate at first sight."

The thought makes Hawke sad. Anders is his friend, and he wants Fenris to be more than that. He doesn't want them to hate each other. When he says so, Anders pats his arm.

"Sometimes these things just happen. I don't get what you see in him, but obviously you do see something."

"I like him."

"Yes, the fact that you were practically having sex in Varric's living room gave that away."

"We were not! It was just kissing!"

"He's good looking, I'll give you that. I remain unconvinced about the tattoos, but he's hot, in an angry sort of way. He's the kind of guy I could see myself having amazing hate sex with, but regretting it in the morning, even if fucking him was the most incredible-"

"Stop! Please stop talking about my - Fenris like that!"

"Your Fenris?" Anders chuckles and shakes his head. "Don't worry, Hawke, I have no intention of going near him."

"He's nice. He's fun. He's intelligent - he speaks five languages! He's a gamer and we read the same sort of books, and I just feel so comfortable with him-"

"Alright, alright, calm down. You're drunk, and all lovey dovey, and as adorable as that is - in a pathetic kind of way - I'm not going to catch you if you swoon. "

"I wanted you to like him," Hawke mumbles, and Anders shrugs.

"I like you. That's enough. Now go drink lots of water and go to bed."

With that, he hugs Hawke - who suspects Anders is more than a little drunk himself - and goes upstairs. With a sigh, Hawke lets himself into his flat and hangs up his coat.

Following doctor's orders, he drinks a glass of water, fills it up again and then pulls his phone out of his pocket. He sees that he has a text from Isabela, but first he keeps his promise to Fenris, and texts him to let him know he's home.

He types, _Just got in. Tonight was amazing_ , and then pauses. How far does he want to go with this? Still mostly drunk he thinks _fuck it_ and goes all in.

**_Hawke_ ** _(23:35)_  
_Just got in. Tonight was amazing. Kissing you was just - fuck, Fenris, I love kissing you. I'm sorry if I came on too strong or if I'm coming on too strong now. But I really like you_

He hits send and drinks his water, then sends another.

**_Hawke_ ** _(23:36)_  
_Sorry about Anders too. Idk why he was acting like that_

Before he can start berating himself over whether that was too much, or not enough, he checks the message from Isabela.

**_Isabela_ ** _(22:55)_  
_YASSSSSSSSSSSSSS OMG HAWKE YESSSS FINALLY YOU KISSED HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DID U TAKE HIM HOME???????_

**_Hawke_ ** _(23:37)_  
_I didn't take him home and that wasn't the first kiss actually_

**_Isabela_ ** _(23:37)_  
_WHAT. THE. FUCK. u were holding out on me? Full details later. U owe me. Is he a good kisser?_

**_Hawke_ ** _(23:37)_  
_Oh god yes. And that's all you're getting_

**_Isabela_ ** _(23:38)_  
_BOOOOOOOOOOOO. Seriously tho kitten im so happy for you <3 <3 u asked him out yes?_

Hawke sighs. No, he didn't. He probably would have, if Fenris and Anders hadn't started sniping at each other on the tube, but their irrational hatred kind of distracted him.

**_Hawke_ ** _(23:38)_  
_I will_

**_Isabela_ ** _(23:39)_  
_:l_

Yeah. That says it all, really.

He eats a cold slice of leftover pizza from the fridge and puts Netflix on, before getting into his favourite comfy black pyjama pants and a much-washed dragon t-shirt he's had since he was a teenager. When he gets back to the living room there's a text from Fenris.

**_Fenris_ ** _(23:59)_  
_Just on overground now. ur not coming on too strong, it's okay. I really, really like kissing you too. I just need to take things a bit slower. And don't worry abt Anders_

Hawke bites his lip, has a minor crisis about whether or not to reply. He hits play on _Brooklyn 99_ and then stares at his phone again.

**_Hawke_ ** _(00:01)_  
_I'm glad to hear it. We can take things as slow as you like. I hope there'll be more kisses the next time we see each other?_

**_Fenris_ ** _(00:01)_  
_What, at work? I wonder what Merrill and Tamlen would do_

**_Hawke_ ** _(00:02)_  
_Merrill would take pictures for Isabela. Tamlen would look adoringly at her while she did so._

**_Fenris_ ** _(00:02)_  
_Ha, yes. You're probably right. We could always go in the back office. Get a little privacy. Just you and me_

Hawke reads that text several times and his brain helpfully provides a whole movie's worth of what might happen in the back room, and he starts to get hard. 

**_Hawke_ ** _(00:02)_  
_Argh stop teasing_

**_Fenris_ ** _(00:03)_  
_Who me? I just mean kissing, Hawke ;) This time anyway. I'll text you when I get in x_

A winky face _and_ a kiss? Fenris is too much. 

He's falling asleep on the sofa by the time his phone buzzes again. 

**_Fenris_ ** _(00:21)_  
_Home now. Thanks again for tonight, Hawke. I kind of wish you were here_

Hawke sighs, letting his eyes fall closed again, hugging a cushion to his chest since Fenris isn't there. He wishes that too. 

Maybe next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you're wondering what the Hanged Man looked like, last time I was in the pub I use as inspiration, [I took some photos. ](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/128430286472/in-case-anyones-curious-as-to-what-the-hanged-man)
> 
> It's so weird to be writing Christmas fic in September xD


	12. Chapter 12

It's Monday morning, and Hawke's already hit snooze five times. 

_Ugh._

The different buzz of a text message makes him creak an eye open to look at his phone screen.

_**Merrill** _ _(06:39)_  
_Hawk I have v v important news!!!! It is Fenris birthday on Thursday!!_

"What?!" Hawke blinks, rolls onto his back and sits up a little. He holds the phone with both hands, staring down at this revelation. It's cold, having both of his arms out from his warm cocoon of blankets, but this is important.

He sends a message to Fenris saying _Why didn't you tell me it's your birthday soon? I need to get you something!_ before realising that maybe Fenris doesn't do the birthday thing. Maybe there are some bad memories involved and Hawke's just brought them all up again. He already knows that Fenris had a shitty childhood, so that's not impossible.

_**Fenris** _ _(07:02)_  
_I've never really done much for my birthday. Fancy going to the xmas market in hyde park? It'll be hideously busy but it might be fun_

"It'll be amazing," Hawke says, out loud, and he's typing _I'd love to_ just as he gets a second message:

_**Fenris** _ _(07:03)_  
_And you don't have to get me anything._

Hawke adds _and I want to get you you something_ to his text and sends.

His alarm goes off again and with a groan he gets out of bed, shivering at the cold, and hauls himself into the shower, trying to wake himself up enough to think of something to get to Fenris.

Standing under the water and massaging shampoo into his hair, he goes through books – reasonable for a writer, but Hawke has no idea what Fenris already owns - to DVDs - too boring, Hawke, thinks - and eventually decides on a wireless keyboard. He's seen Fenris in Deep Roads a few times after work, tapping away on his tablet screen. A keyboard will make it so much easier. That's a good gift for a writer, isn't it? A writer who you've kissed a number of times and are hopefully going to kiss in the middle of a very crowded Christmas market, and who will taste of mulled wine, and will be warm in the cold night, and-

Hawke blinks water out of his eyes.

Maybe a notebook would be better. One with a nice cover. 

Once he gets out of the shower he sends Varric a text asking after his gift opinions and then gets dressed for work, yawning as he does, his hair dripping water on his collar. As he puts his coat on, he's not feeling altogether awake, and grumbles to himself some more about Mondays.

On the train, his phone buzzes:

_**Varric**_ _(07:22)_  
_Go with both. The keyboard on its own might be a bit impersonal. Put some thought into the notebook. And Izzy tells me you didn't take him home on Sat, wtf????_

Hawke thanks him for the advice, and ignores that last comment. 

By the time he gets to Deep Roads he's a little better, a little more awake; better still when he walks in and sees Fenris. He's behind the counter and someone - Hawke suspects Merrill - has put sparkly star clips in his hair. Hawke grins when he sees them. He can't help it. Fenris is really rocking the glitter, but the main reason for the grin is the kisses at Varric's party. They kissed so much. And Hawke actually feels a little calmer in Fenris's presence now. They've passed a threshold – they've both admitted they like each other, that they want more, that Fenris wants to take it slowly. And let's be honest, that's what Hawke needs as well. 

As Hawke gets to the counter, Fenris touches the hair clips, trying to look annoyed, but amusement dances behind his eyes. "You see what they put me through?"

"Truly awful," Hawke says. "I don't know how you can stand it."

Merrill's voice comes somewhere from the corner of the room, "I think he looks cute!"

"Very cute," Hawke agrees, and Fenris turns to make the coffee but not before Hawke sees him smile.

Hawke goes over to Merrill, who is standing on a stool and adding even more baubles to the already overloaded Christmas tree. Tamlen is helping her, and he has Santa clips in his hair. He also has a sappy smile on his face.

“Are you feeling okay, Merrill?” Hawke asks. “You were pretty drunk on Saturday.”

“I know,” she says, and winces. “I hope I wasn't a bother.”

“Not at all. You're a very cute drunk.”

She laughs, and beams at him, and then looks at Tamlen with a softness Hawke's not noticed before. “I'm lucky I had Tamlen to look after me,” she says.

“Any time, Merrill,” he says, and they smile at each other, and Hawke has a very strong urge to clap. _Finally_. Has it been this painful for his friends watching him and Fenris?

"Oh, but Hawke, come here," Merrill says, and he obediently goes. From the pocket of her apron she pulls two Christmas tree hair clips and snaps them into Hawke's hair. "Beautiful!"

Hawke lifts a hand to his new accessories. "Thank you, Merrill."

"I'm not sure Hawke can wear them for work," Tamlen points out.

"I have some meetings this morning, but when I'm in my own office I'll wear them proudly. I'll give one to Saemus, too."

"Here, he can have one of his own!" Merrill says, and reaches in her apron for a bauble-shaped one. "How is he, anyway? Last time I saw him was at the benefit cuts protest last month. He had a very large man with him."

Hawke laughs at her succinct but accurate description. “That would be Ashaad. His boyfriend.”

“Oh? Gosh. He was _much_ bigger than Saemus. But then, you're much bigger than Fenris.”

Hawke stares at her, his cheeks burning, and he doesn't dare look over at Fenris. Maybe he didn't hear? 

No. Hawke's not that lucky. He dares a glimpse, and he sees Fenris's cheeks almost as red as he imagines his own are.

“Oh, I didn't mean that!” Merrill says, and then gives a cheeky grin. “Though I bet you are.”

_”Merrill!”_ Hawke chokes, and steps back, right into a table. “I – I'm walking away, now. I am ending this conversation.”

“Isabela said that when you wear your black jeans you look _huge_.”

_”Ending this conversation!”_ He repeats, and when he gets to the counter to get his coffee, Fenris is smirking at him. 

“I think I'd like to see you wearing those black jeans,” he says, and Hawke sputters. 

“Not you, too!” This is all Isabela's fault, and Hawke's pretty sure she'd be very pleased about it.

Hawke moves to pick up his coffee, then pauses to take the clips out of his hair before he forgets. He has a meeting with Meredith (ugh) first thing, and it really wouldn't do to turn up festively adorned. It would probably make her furious, and she's terrifying when she's angry. 

"You have glitter in your hair," Fenris says, and reaches over to brush it out with his fingers. Hawke smiles; he likes having Fenris's fingers in his hair. Their eyes meet for a moment and there's a - thing, chemistry, a spark, and as Hawke watches he sees Fenris's Adam's apple bob as he swallows. It's - hot. Everything Fenris does is hot.

"So,” Hawke says, his mouth dry. “You'll be twenty eight on Thursday, right?"

Fenris nods. “I will. I'm an old man.”

"I'm two years older than you! And besides, you look good.” He grins. “A timeless beauty."

Fenris chuckles and shakes his head. "You have such a way with words."

"Tell me something I don't know."

He gets his coffee and goes to work. The way that Meredith (ugh) sneers at him makes Hawke think that Fenris missed a bit of glitter.

Saemus is entirely pleased with his clip - the colour matches his eyes - and he wears it all day. When the mayor comes in with some signed paperwork, he frowns at the clip. Hawke quickly snaps his in for solidarity and goes out to accept the papers. Mayor Dumar looks at him too, frowning a little, but doesn't say anything. 

“I've been meaning to ask,” Hawke says as he flicks through the paperwork. “How are things going with Ashaad?”

“Well. Really well.” Hawke looks at him and sees a terribly lovesick smile on his face. He's playing with what looks like a shark tooth necklace that Hawke's not noticed before. “He's such a gentleman. We talk for hours about philosophy, and the environment, and politics. On Saturday we stayed up until 5am discussing American foreign policy.”

Hawke would much rather talk about video games and literature, but to each their own. He'd definitely rather have had _his_ Saturday night, though, kissing Fenris under the mistletoe.

“It sounds like he's a good match for you.”

“Really good. We're going to a rally this weekend, about the benefit cuts.”

Which, Hawke supposes, is probably Saemus's ideal date. “Just remember to call me if you need anything.”

“I'm sure the police will behave themselves this time,” Saemus says, scowling, and then looks around as if expecting Aveline to be lurking behind him. “I mean – Thank you, Hawke.”

He scurries out to go and make himself a green tea. 

+

Fenris is leaning against a table when Hawke walks into Deep Roads on Thursday evening. He's already got his coat on, the black one, with faded black jeans and his scuffed Chucks. Hawke's dressed down too, having gotten changed out of his suit. He's wearing jeans – though most definitely not the infamous black jeans – and a plaid shirt, because Fenris agreed that Hawke looks like a sexy lumberjack.

Fenris glances up when Hawke walks in and gives him a warm smile that makes Hawke feel floaty.

"Happy birthday," he says, offering Fenris the gift bag.

"You didn't have to," Fenris says.

"I know. But I wanted to."

Fenris looks down at the bag, then back up at Hawke. There's the slightest touch of pink in his cheeks, and it's so sweet, no one should be allowed to look that cute.

Setting the bag down on the table, Fenris pulls out the two presents, carefully wrapped in matte black paper and silver ribbon. Hawke's not afraid to say they look great - he's a master present wrapper.

Fenris opens the card first. That had been even more of a trial than the presents. What kind of card do you get your not-actually-boyfriend? In the end he'd gone for one with nice typography, more to stop himself spending another half hour in Hallmark than because he thought he'd found the right one. And writing it? That had been even worse. Should he put 'love, Hawke' or just 'from Hawke'? In the end he'd phoned Isabela who'd laughed at him and reminded him of the text message kiss incident. Since Fenris smiles at the card, Hawke decides _love, Hawke_ was the right way to go.

"Which present should I open first?" Fenris asks.

"Uh - this one," Hawke says, pushing the keyboard towards him. Not that it really matters.

Fenris opens it carefully, opening one end of the paper, and then sliding the box out so that there's a little damage to the wrapping as possible. It's a little thing, but it makes Hawke smile.

"I've seen you typing on your tablet screen, so I thought this might help," Hawke says, and Fenris looks up at him.

"Thank you so much," he says, smiling, and looks down at the box. "This is such a thoughtful present."

"Well I _do_ think about you a lot," Hawke says and immediately regrets it, but not for long because Fenris laughs, and it's worth it.

He reaches for the other present and opens it with just as much care. It's a notebook. Hawke had spent hours scrolling through various websites to find the perfect one. In the end he'd gone for simple: a dark leather cover, with gold edging. It just seemed _Fenris-y._

"I know it's a bit samey," Hawke says. "Writer gifts. But I had a theme and I ran with it."

Fenris is looking down at the book still, running his fingers over the cover. He looks up at Hawke and he's startled to see how intense he looks. "I'm going to put them in my locker," he says. "Come with me?"

"Sure," Hawke says, trying not to grin, remembering Fenris's text on Saturday about kissing in the back room. 

The instant they step through the door Fenris pushes him against the wall. Their eyes meet and Hawke can see the fire in those green eyes for just a second before Fenris kisses him.

And Hawke returns the kiss, his back pressed against the wall, Fenris pressed against him.

Fenris is a good kisser, which Hawke already knows, but-

_Fuck._

Licks, and bites, and Fenris's hands sliding down his body to his ass. It's warm and slick, and at one point Fenris moans, a long, drawn out, muffled moan, and Hawke doesn't think he's ever been harder in his life.

And then the door opens. 

Fenris pulls away from Hawke's lips, hiding his head against his chest as Tamlen comes in, avoiding looking at them and stammering _I'm really sorry but I need some change,_ and goes over to a safe in the corner of the room.

It's kind of embarrassing but that kiss was amazing - not _kiss_ , singular, they were at it for a good few minutes and it was all incredible.

And Fenris is still in his arms while Tamlen fumbles in the safe. It occurs to Hawke that it was their first completely sober kiss. It was their best kiss so far, too. Hawke smiles and buries his face in Fenris's soft hair as Tamlen finally gets what he needs and turns around, walks out of the room, still not looking at them.

The door finally closes and Fenris looks up at Hawke with a grin.

"I didn't quite intend that," he says.

"Tamlen interrupting us?"

"The kiss. Or at least - I wanted to kiss you but wasn't expecting for it to be so - involved."

Hawke grins. "I like involved kissing."

"Me too. But we should get out of here."

Hawke nods and watches Fenris put the gift bag in one of the lockers at the side of the room. He's still hard, and he'd like to kiss Fenris again, but that can come later. They have time. 

===

The Christmas market in Hyde Park is an experience. 

It's called Winter Wonderland, and it's loud, and bright, and busy, _especially_ two days before Christmas. There are rides, stalls, displays, and oh so much food and drink. 

Hawke hasn't been for a few years – it's a bit overwhelming – but he's looking forward to it. Mostly because Fenris is with him, but also partly because he really, really loves mulled wine and the incredibly unhealthy food that they serve.

“Where first?” Fenris asks, and Hawke's answer is instantaneous.

“Mulled wine.”

Fenris nods. “Good idea. It'll help us to warm up.” 

They get their drinks and walk around, trying to find an area that's a little quieter or at least has less sugared-up teenagers. They end up tucked in between another mulled wine vendor and a stall selling pretzels.

“I find it hard to believe that this is happening,” Fenris says, sipping his wine and gazing down at the shadowed floor.

“What do you mean?”

“This. You. That – you want to spend time together. The kissing.”

“Obviously I want to do that.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me. I'm – I have a lot of baggage. I'm not easy.”

Hawke sips his drink. It's spicy and hot, warming his hands through the gloves. He looks at Fenris, who's avoiding his gaze. "I think you're worth it."

Fenris looks away then, and says, so quietly that Hawke can barely hear him over the commotion around them, "I wonder."

Hawke doesn't know what to say to that. He sounds so sad, like he means it. Like Fenris doubts he could be serious, but Hawke's already at least half in love with him. He can't say any of that to Fenris, of course, but he can put a gloved hand to his cheek and gently turn him to face him. He doesn't say anything; instead he kisses him, gently, slowly. Their teeth bump together, Hawke's tongue slides against Fenris's, and Fenris's spare hand goes to Hawke's hip. They stand there at the side of the mulled wine stand kissing, and by the time they pull away to breathe, Hawke feels more drunk on Fenris than he could ever be on mulled wine.

They walk around the market for a while, and have another wine. It gives Hawke the Dutch courage he needs to take Fenris's hand, and Fenris doesn't pull away. In fact he squeezes Hawke's hand without missing a beat of what he's saying, and Hawke had forgotten it could be like this, this nice, this _natural_.

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Hawke asks. 

“I'm going to Berlin, actually,” Fenris says. “Catching up with a few people I used to live with.”

“When are you back?”

“On the second.”

“No New Year's Eve date, then,” Hawke says, a little disappointed, and Fenris shakes his head. 

“Afraid not. I booked it a few months ago, before we... before we kissed.” 

“I'm glad we kissed.”

“Me too.”

“So,” Hawke asks, Fenris's words giving him a sudden spike of bravery. “Is _this_ \- a date?”

Fenris considers. “Not an official one.”

“What would make it an official one?”

“Well – to start with, you have to call it a date.”

“Then why don't we say it is?”

“It's too late now. You have to call in a date when you're arranging it.”

Fenris is being playful. Fenris is fucking _adorable_ when he's being playful. Hawke wants to kiss him again, so he does, on the tip of his nose.

“Alright. So how exactly would I go about that?”

“You'd say, _Fenris, I'd like to ask you to go on a date with me._ ”

“Fenris,” Hawke starts, pulling Fenris over to stand by the side of a stall so that they're out of the way. He slides an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Fenris is pressed against him, and he puts his arms around Hawke's shoulders. Hawke can smell the mulled wine spices on his breath, he can see the tattoo on his forehead. He kisses that, too.

“Yes, Hawke?” Fenris says, smiling, having cleverly noticed that Hawke had gotten himself distracted.

“Fenris, will you go on a date with me?”

“Hmm,” Fenris says, and appears to consider it for a moment. And then he laughs in a single exhale and kisses Hawke, lets him taste those spices as well. “I would love to go on a date with you. I'm going to be out of the country until next year though. Will you wait for me?”

“I'd wait forever for you,” Hawke says, and Fenris laughs but Hawke's semi-drunk self means it. They kiss again, hidden in the corner like that, until Hawke is hard and he _thinks_ Fenris is too, but it's hard to tell through all the layers.

“It's freezing,” Fenris says, stepping back and rubbing his hands together. “More alcohol.”

Hawke nods, noticing the sudden unease in Fenris's eyes. He likes Hawke but he's wary. Not of Hawke, he doesn't think. Just of - this. Dating. Relationships. It makes Hawke think that someone must have hurt him in the past, badly. Hawke wants to injure that person.

Fenris has hot chocolate with Baileys this time; Hawke sticks to the wine. He's not great at mixing drinks. There are stories, stories that will never be shared with anyone, least of all the person whose pants he's trying to get into.

They get doughnuts too, and the sugar gets _everywhere_ , but they're warm, and they're tasty, and Fenris just agreed to go on an official date with Hawke so as far as he's concerned that means that all is right with the world.

They walk around the stalls. Hawke gets a wind chime for his mother and a leather bound book for Bethany. Fenris gets some chocolates, and shares then with Hawke as they walk round. Once the chocolates are gone Fenris throws the bag away, and then he takes Hawke's hand in his own. Hawke grins at him goofily, but Fenris smiles back with what appears to be affection, and Hawke can't even remember the last time he was this happy.

Eventually the lights and the noise and the crowds get too much, and they head for the tube station, still hand-in-hand on the busy platform.

It's already crowded when they get on, and even more so as the Christmas market goers get on. Fenris and Hawke claim a spot near the doors, pressed close by the crowd. 

“We seem to end up like this a lot,” Hawke says, and Fenris nods. 

“We do. But I can't say I mind,” Fenris says with a smirk, and puts his hand on Hawke's hip. “What did you say Varric described you as? A giant with a heart of gold?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. I rather like having a giant with a heart of gold crowding over me like this. Tall, and strong, and handsome. I wonder if you look as good under all those layers as I think you do.”

Hawke swallows. This conversation has taken an unexpected turn. Unexpected, but not at all unwanted. “Hopefully. I mean, I've been working out. I'm naturally sort of big anyway – good genes from my dad. It's where I get the beard too. Uh. But I've been doing weights and they're good for defining muscle, and-”

“Hawke?”

“Yeah?”

“You're babbling.”

“Yeah. It's kind of a thing I do.”

Fenris flashes a smile and then looks away. “I've noticed. It's cute.”

“You think I'm cute?”

“I think you're _very_ cute.”

Considering that they've spent a good portion of the last few times they've seen each other doing nothing but kissing, that's kind of obvious; but Hawke is still very pleased to hear it said. “I think you're cute too. Especially in knitwear.”

“Oh?” Fenris touches his scarf. “I'll remember that.”

Hawke is hit by a vision of Fenris in his scarf and beanie and nothing else. It's a slightly bizarre vision, but a very nice one. 

“So who is it that you're seeing in Berlin?”

“A few people. I'm staying with a girl I used to live with.” There's something about the way he says it that makes it sound like _more_ and Hawke lifts an eyebrow. “Not like that. Well, occasionally like that. We slept together but we were just friends. And in case you're worried, I have no intention, at all, of sleeping with her over the next week. I _did_ , when I booked the flight but then you happened.”

“I happened?” Hawke looks at him. “When did I happen?”

Fenris looks thoughtful for a moment. “I liked you the first time I saw you. You wear a suit _really_ well, Hawke. But the moment I thought something might actually happen was-” He laughs. “The _crush on the elf_ incident.”

Hawke grins at him. Because as embarrassing as that moment was? So much good has come from it. 

Fenris asks for reading recommendations for the airport, which develops into a discussion of the pros and cons of ereaders.

By the time they're pulling into Holborn station, Hawke had forgotten all about getting home. 

“Oh, I need to change here,” Hawke says, straightening up. He looks down at Fenris and feels another goofy smile plant itself on his face. Fenris is going on a date with him. It's actually happening. He's standing here, looking both gorgeous and adorable in his beanie and his scarf, and he agreed to go on a date with Hawke. Life is seriously amazing. “Happy birthday, Fenris,” he says, and then leans in for a goodbye kiss. It's supposed to be sweet, and brief, but Fenris slides his tongue between Hawke's lips, and _oh god yes._

Which is when the doors start beeping as they slide closed. 

“Shit,” Hawke says, watching as the train starts to pull away from the station. 

“Ah, sorry,” Fenris says, but he's biting down on a smile. 

“Never be sorry for kissing me,” Hawke says, and since he's already missed his stop he treats himself to another kiss, but just a small one. He pulls back and looks at the map. 

“Where is it that you need to go?” Fenris asks. 

“Greenwich. I could get the Circle line to Tower Gateway-" 

"Or you could come with me," Fenris says, and traces the route with his finger. It's longer but he'd get to be with Fenris most of the way, and that's more than enough for Hawke.

“Yeah. Okay.”

He spends the next half hour either sitting next to Fenris with their knees touching, or standing on platforms holding hands, and Hawke is very glad he took the long way home.

They're on the Overground and Fenris's stop has just been announced, and he looks up to smile at Hawke.

"Thank you, Hawke," Fenris says, the swaying of the train bumping their bodies together. "This has been the best birthday I've had in a long time."

"You're very welcome. Have a nice time in Berlin. And a good Christmas and New Year.”

“You too. And I'll see you in January. For our date,” Fenris says, and gives Hawke one last kiss as the train pulls into Haggerston. 

Hawke waves goodbye, and he can't stop smiling. 

It's a shame that Fenris can't come to their New Year's Eve party, but he's sure of one thing: with a date planned for the third of January, next year is off to an amazing start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes for this chapter:
> 
> Fenris's birthday, 23rd December, is my birthday too. I have a habit of giving it to characters. 
> 
> The notebook Hawke got Fenris is [this one](http://www.paperblanks.com/uk/en/collections/1/filtered?collection_id=288#2015) \- it reminded me of Fenris's armour :)
> 
> I also did a [sketch of Hawke touching Fenris's forehead tattoo](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/128592704330/the-tattoo-touching-on-the-train-scene-from) on the train from chapter ten. 
> 
> And lastly, somewhat off topic: I've recently launched [a website for my original writing!](http://www.clarestark.com) There isn't much on there at the minute, but there'll be stuff like writing advice and resources as well as my writing. I chose my nom de plume, Clare Stark, because Clare is my name, and Stark is nice and geeky (think Iron Man and Game of Thrones) xD
> 
> And that's it! Thank you so so much for reading, for commenting and giving kudos, for notes and asks over on tumblr. You're amazing <3


	13. Chapter 13

Hawke got a text at 3am, and he can't stop reading it.

He's in Windsor with Bethany and his mother, getting ready for Christmas. They're having Christmas Eve lunch at a fancy place in town, and Hawke was forced to put on a suit on a non-work day. He's not particularly happy about it, but remembering that Fenris said he looks good in a suit helped. It's a nice suit – tailored, dark blue, grey shirt, black tie. He took a selfie and if he can find the courage he might even send it to Fenris later.

If nothing else, the suit helps him fit in at this restaurant, full of rich folk with designer handbags and expensive haircuts. There's an extremely plush Christmas tree in the corner that scrapes the ceiling, and its branches are weighed down by excessive amounts of gold and purple baubles. There are life-sized fake deer dotted here and there that the wait staff have to dodge, some covered in velvet, some in gold leaf. It's pretentious as hell, but his mum wanted to come here and the food is admittedly amazing, so Hawke can put up with it for an hour or two. 

Besides, he has that text to distract him. Hawke keeps sneaking furtive glances at his phone:

**_Fenris_ ** _(3:02)_  
_I'm still awake. Can't stop thinking about you_

Hawke replied when he saw it this morning, saying with just-woke-up-honesty _I can never stop thinking about you_ and received a smiley face in return. Nothing since, but Fenris will be going through airport security and that's not really the best time for composing flirty text messages. 

"Garrett, put your phone away," his mum says. "I don't mean to sound like a grumpy old woman, but Bethany's telling us a story."

Hawke takes ones last look at the text, then puts his phone face down on the table and looks up at them. They're dressed up nicely too, Mum in a red sweater that makes her look vaguely Helen Mirren-esque, Bethany in a somewhat slinky blue-and-grey dress that makes Hawke's over-protectiveness ping, but he's trying to control it. At least Isabela isn't here; Hawke can all too easily imagine her reaction. 

"I was just talking about the gallery at the university," Bethany says. "I haven't been before, but it made me think of you. There's an exhibition of depictions of dragons through the ages."

"Dragons?" Hawke asks, suddenly snapping to attention, and Bethany grins at him. 

"I thought you might like that. Yes, dragons from all different cultures and eras. There are paintings, sculptures, writing – here, let me use your phone, I'll show you." She reaches for his phone and unlocks it before Hawke can stop her. As soon as the phone's unlocked, the text from Fenris is right there. She reads it, her grin growing. "Well, well, big brother. You're finally getting somewhere with Fenris?"

Hawke's cheeks are hot. God, this is embarrassing. "That's _private_ , Bethany."

"Mm _hmm_ ," Bethany says, and shows their mother too. Hawke glowers at her, but Mum clasps her hands together and beams at him. 

"Oh, _finally_ , Garrett, this is wonderful! You should have invited him along, I'd love to meet him."

"He's out of the country. Or will be, shortly – he's at the airport. And besides, we've not even been on a date yet. Bit early in the relationship to meet my mother."

"You've not been on a date with him yet?" Bethany asks, and looks somewhat horrified. "It's been _months_."

"Not an official one."

"So you've been on an unofficial one?" When Hawke doesn't answer, Bethany raises an eyebrow. "The ice rink? Was _that_ an unofficial date? Why didn't you tell me!?"

"I hope you are going on an official date," Mum says, ganging up on him. "It sounds like he likes you a lot! Don't let him go, Garrett."

"I've been busy with work-"

"Exactly! You're always working. You need to have some fun."

"I think Fenris would like to have some fun with you," Bethany says, and Hawke snatches his phone out of her hands before she can do something truly awful like reply.

"He wants to take it slowly," Hawke says, putting his phone in his pocket. "And I'm happy with that - I want to make sure he's comfortable."

The waiter interrupts them to take their order, and once he's gone, Hawke hopes that they might have moved on to a different subject than his burgeoning love life, but no such luck.

"That's good that you're respecting his boundaries, dear, but make sure you _do_ act. I know what you're like," his mum says, shaking her head. "I'm afraid you'll get scared off."

"I won't. I really like him, Mum."

"I can see why," Bethany says, leaning forward. "He's _very_ handsome. And just looking at him, you can tell how much he likes Garrett. I think they're made for each other." She makes a hand-heart at him and Hawke sighs. 

"We're going on a date when he gets back from Berlin after Christmas. Like I said, we're taking it slowly."

"Oh, Garrett," Mum sighs, shaking her head. "I'm never going to get those grandchildren, am I?"

 _"Mother!"_ Hawke squeaks, making both of them laugh. "Honestly, at his rate even when we do get together I'm not going to let you meet him. You'll scare him off."

"I'll be on my best behaviour, I promise. I might have to go into this coffee shop of his next time I'm in the city," she says, and Hawke honestly can't tell whether or not she's still teasing.

"Just don't mention grandchildren," Hawke begs, and she smiles. "Why don't you ask Bethany about her love life?"

"Oh, she's already told me about Isabela," she says, thwarting Hawke's plan to get the heat off him. "I think it's nice that she's seeing one of your friends. At least that way we know she's a good egg."

Hawke raises an eyebrow at the description. Never in his whole life would he have considered that description of Isabela. In any way, shape, or form. From Bethany's smile, which she's hiding behind her hand, she feels the same way.

"And at least _we've_ managed to go on a date," Bethany says, and Hawke stares at her.

"Why was I not informed?!" Although Isabela did mention a kiss – was the kiss part of a date?

"It was shopping and dinner. It was nice."

"So you're - serious? About Isabela?"

"It's only been a few weeks. I don't know. She's fun. And pretty," she says, with a touch of pink to her cheeks.

"I'm so happy you're both courting," Mum says with a smile, as the waiter comes to pour champagne. 

"Maybe you should be asking Bethany about grandchildren instead of me," Hawke suggests, and Bethany glowers at him. "She's the one who's actually been on a date."

"But you're the older one," Mum points out, and Bethany grins. "I've been waiting for you to settle down for so _long_ , Garrett! Is Fenris the marrying type, do you think?"

Hawke groans and hides his face in his hands. His mum pats his arm. 

"Stop trying to drop your sister in it, dear. I'll tease you both equally, in my own time."

"That's something at least," Hawke mutters, and sips at his champagne.

They never have turkey for Christmas dinner, because Uncle Gamlen finds it dry and sometimes it's easier to just avoid giving him something else to complain about. So they have it now, turkey with cranberry sauce, roast potatoes, honey-roasted vegetables, gravy and stuffing, with Christmas pudding afterwards – the proper stuff that gets set on fire, both dramatic and delicious. There's more champagne, too, and when the plates are cleared away Hawke's not sure he'll ever eat again. From Mum and Bethany's dazed expressions, they feel much the same. 

Hawke calls a taxi to get them home even though it's only a twenty minute walk, and his mum announces that she's going to watch some _Poirot_ in the sitting room, which probably means she's going to nap for the rest of the afternoon. Bethany is more upfront about it, and goes straight to bed. 

After playing with Sam for a few minutes, Hawke makes some coffee and wanders up to his own bedroom, groaning. So much food. Too much food. Amazing food, but still. He grabs The Last Unicorn from the shelf and flops onto his bed. He still has his phone in his pocket and it jabs into his junk. Wincing, he takes it out of his pocket and notices he has a text.

 ** _Fenris_** _(12:29)_  
_Still at the airport. Delayed for an hour. This is so dull_

Hawke looks at his book. He'd been looking forward to a nice afternoon of reading and possibly napping after that truly impressive lunch, but suddenly that seems much less interesting.

He goes to Fenris's details and hits dial. It rings for long enough that Hawke has a flutter of panic over whether or not Fenris wants to speak to him, but then he answers.

"Hello, Hawke. I didn't mean for you to call me," Fenris pauses. "But I'm glad you did."

"I know how boring it is to be stuck at an airport," Hawke says. "And to be honest, since Bethany and Mum have spent the last hour teasing me about my inability to ask you out on a date, it's nice to speak to someone who won't be mean to me."

Fenris chuckles, a rich, _sexy_ noise that makes Hawke's mouth dry. He sits up and grabs his coffee from the bedside table and takes a gulp. "You _did_ take a long time to ask me out."

"You could have asked me out any time you wanted, you know," Hawke points out, smiling and rolling onto his back. Fenris is teasing him, his voice relaxed and deep, and Hawke's thoughts go instantly to phone sex. He licks his lips. Phone sex with Fenris would be incredible.

"I suppose I could have," Fenris says, and pauses as there's some kind of announcement in the background; Fenris sighs. "Another half hour delay," he explains, and Hawke winces.

"That sucks."

"Especially since the flight's so short," Fenris says and sighs. "Anyway. Where are you?"

"At my mum's place."

Fenris laughs. "Ah, you've returned to the family estate, Lord Hawke?"

"Very funny." Fenris is teasing but it _is_ strangely nice when he calls Hawke that, in a way that isn't there at all when Isabela teases him. Maybe it's the thoughts of phone sex earlier, but Hawke's a little hard and being called _Lord_ is only making him harder.

"I'm not trying to be funny. I like the idea of going on a date with a lord - if we got married would I get to be a lord, too?"

Hawke's eyes widen but he manages not to make the choked noise that wants to escape his throat. "A proposal? Bit early for that, Fenris. We've not even had our first official date yet."

Fenris laughs, and is it Hawke's imagination or does he sound fond? "I suppose you're right. We don't want to rush into things. So what are you doing?"

"Nothing much. Lying in bed, talking to you."

"Oh?" There's a new lilt to Fenris's voice now, and Hawke's cock twitches, getting a little harder. He bites his lip. "In bed, hmm?"

"Honestly Fenris," Hawke says, giving a breathless little chuckle. "If you ask me what I'm wearing you're going to be disappointed."

"Oh? Tell me, Hawke."

"I'm wearing trousers and a shirt. My tie is on the floor somewhere. The button of my fly is open but only because I ate so much at lunch."

Fenris laughs. "Very sexy, Hawke."

"That's me. I'm all about sexy. Or am I dashing? Charming, perhaps."

Another pause. "You can be all three, you know. And you frequently are."

Hawke blinks; it takes a moment for him to be able to think of a reply to that. He rolls onto his side, smiling. "You really think so?"

"I do. Charming? Dashing? Yes, you are. Despite yourself sometimes, I think. And sexy? God, Hawke. You really are."

"Uh, maybe you could - tell me more?"

"You want me to tell you what I find sexy about you?"

"Yeah. I think I'd like that."

"Hmm. Alright. Your broad shoulders, your legs - those suits you wear really show off your legs, Hawke. It was one of the first things I noticed about you."

"Really? Not the beard? I'm quite partial to the beard."

"The beard is very nice, but it wasn't the first thing I noticed. The legs, the shoulders, _then_ your face. Which is a very nice face."

"I'm glad you like it."

"I do. A lot. Especially when I'm kissing it. I like having your body pressed against mine. It feels so hard and strong, and-" Fenris clears his throat, then pauses for a moment, and Hawke can hear him breathing hard. _Hawke_ is hard, and as much as this isn't a conversation for the airport – as much as this isn't a conversation to have before their first date - he doesn't want to stop. "I think I just got a little distracted," Fenris says.

"I'm happy to distract you any time you like."

"I'd like that too."

"I'll miss you," Hawke says suddenly. "While you're away. Seeing you pretty much every day at Deep Roads has spoiled me."

"I do look good in the apron," Fenris says very seriously, and Hawke nods, just as serious.

"You do."

Fenris tells Hawke of some of his plans for when he's in Germany, and Hawke promises to steal a bottle of champagne for him from Varric's New Year's Eve party. Hawke promises to send Fenris the selfie, and Fenris sounds smug when he says his friend will be jealous. 

"...and honestly, Merrill is sweet, but if she talks about that bloody mirror one more time-" Fenris pauses as there's another garbled announcement in the background. "Finally. I have to go, Hawke. We're about to board."

"Great! Have an amazing time, Fenris." 

"I'll try. I'll text you when I land."

"Okay," Hawke says, and tries to find something else to say. He realises that he's trying to drag the conversation out; he doesn't want to stop talking to Fenris. In fact, it's more than that. He wants him here. Wants to kiss him, and hug him, and maybe more. Soon. Next year. But soon. "Goodbye, Fenris."

"Goodbye, Hawke."

When the call has ended Hawke sighs, and then sends Fenris the photo he took earlier. Fenris replies five minutes later with a smirking photo from his plane seat, and Hawke will never, ever delete it. This is the first picture of Fenris that he has legitimately, rather than something illicitly sent by Merrill. He runs his finger over his phone's screen, over Fenris's face, and then blushes a little. At least no-one's here to see this. 

He lies in bed for a moment, scrolling through the messages between him and Fenris, and then rolls his eyes at himself before picking his book up. There's about an hour before Uncle Gamlen arrives, ready to complain about everything and bicker with everyone, making it a real family Christmas. 

He might as well have some quiet time before that happens, because god knows he's not going to get any for the next few days.

At least this year, he thinks with a smile, he has texting with Fenris to distract him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very important news! There have been not one but TWO amazing new pieces of fanart for this fic! I am so lucky :) You can see [the wonderful first one here](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/129240362540/raininginadelaide-qvoro-raininginadelaide-is) and [the adorable second one here. ](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/129219792740/qvoro-raininginadelaide-is-still-writing-this)
> 
> Sorry for the weird posting time, I'm [in Vancouver atm](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/129524171215/a-couple-of-pics-of-what-ive-been-up-to-over-the). Next week will probably be weird too bc I get back to England at 7:30am so I have no idea when I'll post. Hopefully it'll still be Sunday though!


	14. Chapter 14

Any party takes place at Varric's. There's just no question - everyone else has normal, small London apartments, whereas his place is just made for large numbers of people getting drunk. 

The advantage of having the party at Varric's place - other than access to his impressive bar - is that no-one needs to dress up too much if they don't want to. Hawke is wearing a plaid shirt, of course, but he's added a tie and he looks good, if he does say so himself. He's been messaging Fenris on Whatsapp pretty much constantly for the past week, and sent a selfie just before heading out. Fenris responded approvingly and sent one of his own, bundled up for the cold since he and his friend - a pretty red-haired lady smiling into the camera by his side - were heading out into Berlin for the night.

The New Year's Eve party is more exclusive than the Christmas party was - just their core group of friends and plus ones. Which means that Bethany is there, sitting next to Isabela, and Hawke isn't sure what he feels about that. He's trying not to frown too much. Isabela is being her usual self with bad jokes and innuendo, but her hand is holding Bethany's, who is smiling at her and looking happier than Hawke's seen her in a long time. He can lay off with the overprotectiveness, he thinks. At least for tonight.

Other than that, Anders is currently looking very intense as he talks to Aveline, jabbing a finger pointedly in the air. Hawke feels for her, but at the same time he's thankful that he's not on the receiving end of yet another of Anders's tirades. Varric and Bianca are standing near the bar, talking and brushing shoulders. Apparently Merrill was invited but had other plans, and of course Fenris is in Germany. That leaves Hawke, sitting alone on Varric's leather couch and alternating between people-watching and glancing at Jools Holland's Hootenanny on the TV. 

"So, Hawke," Varric says, pressing a cold can of craft beer into Hawke's hand, just as he finishes the last one. Varric really is the best host. "How was your Christmas?"

"Pretty good. A little too much Gamlen for my tastes. Mum suggested that me and Bethany invite our friends next year to drown him out." 

"Christmas with the Hawkes, huh? I gotta say, I'm not sure Leandra is ready for your friends."

"I don't know. As much as my mother was raised to be a lady, she has quite the sense of humour. You should hear her teasing me about Fenris." 

"Oh?"

"Asking me when the wedding is, when she's going to get grandchildren. I swear, if she ever meets him, he's going to run a mile."

Varric is quiet for a moment, looking at him. Hawke's surprised to see that he looks serious - no teasing, no smirk. "You sure about that? He seems pretty into you."

That surprises Hawke - and makes him smile, too. It's one thing to think to himself that Fenris likes him, another to have it confirmed by an observant guy like Varric. And, well - Fenris has been messaging Hawke as often as the other way around. Not to mention all the kissing. That's pretty solid evidence too. "I suppose he does."

Varric leans against the sofa Hawke is sitting on. "You heard from him while he's been away?"

"A few times, yeah. He's having fun."

"And when he gets back you two are finally having your date, huh?"

"Yep," Hawke says, smiling widely, unable to help it and not quite able to believe it.

"Took a while but you got there." He claps Hawke on the shoulder - a feat only possible because Hawke is sitting down, since Hawke is six foot four and Varric is barely over five feet. "I gotta say, for a handsome, charming guy like yourself, I'm continually surprised by how bad you are at this."

"Tell me something I don't know, Varric."

"But you got there in the end, huh?"

"I don't like that look in your eye," Hawke says, and frowns at Varric, who just grins at him. 

"If you're going to have a relationship with a writer, you better get used to it," Bianca says, pausing as she passes by. She grins at him, pushing dark hair out of her eyes. She travels a lot for work and lives in the US more than the UK, so despite having known Varric for years, Hawke has met her only a handful of times. He likes her, though - her knife-sharp humour and quick wit are more than a match for Varric's, and that's saying something. "The amount of times we've been together - enjoying dinner, a nice afternoon walk - and Varric gets this _look_ , and I know I've lost him. You'll come to recognise it."

"Has he ever written a story with you in it, though? Or threatened to write all about your relationship?"

She laughs and kisses Varric on the cheek. "He wouldn't dare."

"Damn right," Varric says, excusing himself to do the rounds, Bianca's hand in his.

Anders sits down next to Hawke, offering him a piece of cake. His hair's down for once, brushing his shoulders, and his face is relaxed. Hawke knows that it's a minor miracle that he got tonight off work, and he finds that he's glad he's here. It's the first time he's seen him since the Christmas party, and it made him a bit uncomfortable that they didn't part on the best of terms.

Hawke thanks him for the cake, and then settles back on the sofa. "Did you get to see your parents over Christmas?" 

"Briefly. I only had an afternoon off on Boxing Day, so I got the train up, drank lots of wine and slept all the way back. Other than that I was working."

Hawke frowns at him, worry wanting to push past his lips. Anders works far too hard, but he's always said that the other option is that people die. They argued a lot about this when they were together - Hawke pointing out that Anders isn't the only doctor - but it didn't do any good then; he knows it won't do any good now. 

"You have tomorrow off?"

Anders nods. "I think I'm going to spend all day sleeping."

"How about I make you dinner? You look like you could use a good meal."

Anders laughs and drops his head to Hawke's shoulder. "You sound like my mother."

"What can I say?" Hawke rests his head on Anders's soft hair. "You need a little mothering."

"Mm," Anders says, but Hawke's not sure whether it's agreement or something else. Hawke doesn't like to think that he's a mother hen, but he wants to look after his friends, give them whatever they need. He likes to think that in another life he would be a literal knight in shining armour, protecting them with sword and shield, but in this life, making good comfort food will have to do. "Alright. I'll never say no to some Hawke cooking."

On the other side of the room, Isabela has started laughing, clapping her hands in delight. Aveline is glaring at her, and whatever this is about, it seems that yet another Aveline-Isabela sniping match has begun.

"Aveline likes a boy," Isabela sing-songs, and slaps Aveline on the shoulder. "Good for you! It's been a while, do you need some pointers? A reminder of how things work down there?"

"Shut your mouth."

"I offered the same to Hawke but considering how he went at it with Fenris at the Christmas party, I think it all came flooding back to him when he finally had a man in his arms. I'm sure the same will be true for you." Aveline is glaring and Bethany is laughing, though trying to hide it behind her hand. She's always looked up to Aveline, having seen her as her big brother's best friend growing up. To say that Aveline's dynamic with Isabela is different is putting it mildly.

"I don't need your _advice_ ," Aveline says. "I'd be better off googling 'sex advice from a cheap floozy'."

"Cheap floozy? Oh, you wound me," Isabela says, settling back down by Bethany's side and putting an arm over her shoulders. "I'm at least a mid-range floozy these days."

"Be that as it may," Aveline says, folding her arms and standing to lean against the bar. "I will deal with Donnic in my own way."

"Wait, hold on," Hawke says before he can stop himself. As much as he knows it's unwise to get between Aveline and Isabela, he can't help himself. He knows Donnic. He's a police officer and Hawke knows him through work. He's a good man. Ruggedly handsome with an easy smile, but dedicated to his job. In short, he's exactly Aveline's type. "Donnic? That file you asked me to give him last week doesn't have anything to do with this, does it? He seemed very confused by whatever the report was."

Aveline looks away, and there's a distinct touch of pink to her cheeks. "It - wasn't a report. It was a CD. Of music by the Copper Marigolds."

"A band he likes?"

"No. I mean, maybe." Aveline's jaw is tight and if she hadn't spent almost as long teasing him about Fenris as Isabela did, he might feel sorry for her. "It's - the name is meaningful. I spent a long time googling to find the right one!"

"Meaningful?"

"He-" Aveline is definitely blushing now. Blushing and scowling. "He said that my hair reminded him of marigolds." 

"Very romantic," Varric says approvingly and nods. 

"Not just that. Metal is strong, copper ages well, flowers are soft. It's everything I want to tell him about myself."

There's silence for a moment. Everyone stares at her in disbelief, and she refuses to look at anyone.

"I might be useless at this," Hawke says, "But at least the gifts I gave Fenris made sense. Copper Marigolds, Aveline? Really?"

"Wait, wait," Varric says, holding up a hand and then music starts to play from his phone. It's bad. Really bad. Morris dance music with warbling off-key vocals. Tambourines are a key feature. 

"Please tell me that isn't them," Isabela says and then starts laughing. Bethany is laughing too, hiding her face against Isabela's shoulder.

"She's officially worse at this than you are, Hawke," Anders says, laughing. "Congratulations at no longer being the most terrible."

"Again, I feel the need to point out that you went out with me," Hawke says, but Anders only laughs and puts an arm over his shoulder, leaning against him.

"Your good looks obviously dazzled me so much that I didn't notice how pathetic you were."

The good looks bit is a plus but pathetic? Unfair. Hawke opens his mouth to say something but Anders smiles up at him.

"And for what it's worth - you were a good boyfriend. It must just be the pre-date-Hawke that's awkward as fuck."

"Thanks, I guess."

"As lovely as that show of affection was," Isabela says, waving a hand, "We're getting away from the important point: Aveline gave this - noise - to the boy she likes. This is a disaster, big girl."

"It's not that bad," Aveline starts, and then groans, dropping her head into her hands. "Oh, who am I kidding? This is terrible. What do I do to make this right?"

"Text him at midnight, to start with," Isabela says. "Make it flirty."

"You have to help me."

Isabela rolls her eyes, but she stands and grabs Aveline's arm, leading her over to a quiet corner of the room to compose this important text.

"What about _your_ flirty text?" Anders asks Hawke. "I assume you're sending him one."

"I'm going for simple so that I can't mess up. Something like _Happy new year, can't wait to see you."_

"With a kiss? Or are you still panicky about text message kisses?"

"No. In fact, I've sent him multiple text message kisses."

"You're a brave man, Hawke," Anders says with fake sincerity and Hawke punches him lightly on the arm. 

Because of the time difference, Hawke gets Fenris's _Happy New Year_ text first, with a few autocorrects that makes Hawke think Fenris has been enjoying the German beer tonight. The thought makes him smile more than it probably should. 

As midnight approaches, they shuffle onto the balcony, huddling under the heater. Anders slides an arm around Hawke's waist, and Hawke does the same to Aveline. From Varric's phone they hear the countdown, and then the skies of London light up with firework flowers.

"Happy New Year!" They call out on ragged unison, Varric opening the bottle of champagne and pouring it fizzily into glasses. As Anders kisses his cheek, Hawke wishes with a fierce ache in his chest that Fenris were here. 

"Happy new year, Hawke," Anders says with a smile, his face lit green and pink from the nearest fireworks.

"Happy New Year, Anders," Hawke says, and then Varric leads them in a rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne that is missing a few words and most of the tune.

When they're done he sips the champagne and pulls his phone from his pocket to message Fenris.

_**Hawke** _ _(12:04)_  
_Happy New Year!!! Can't wait to see you xxx_

"Are you messaging Fenris?" Bethany asks as she hugs him, and Hawke nods. 

"Of course." 

Bethany pulls back to smile at him and touches his cheek. "I hope it works out for you, Garrett. I can see how much you like him."

"I hope so too."

"Facetime him!" Isabela yells, pulling both Hawke and Bethany into a three-way-hug.

"I'm not facetiming him," Hawke says, though maybe he wants to, just a little bit. But he's not that pathetic - he's literally going on a date with Fenris in two days. He can wait. He does end up taking a selfie of all of them though, and sending it to him.

The photo he gets back is of Fenris lying in bed, hair fanned out behind him on the pillow, his tattoos tantalisingly disappearing beneath the v-neck of his t-shirt.

The instant he sees it he gives an undignified yelp and clutches his phone to his chest.

Isabela claps. "With that reaction, I'm guessing definitely a dick pic this time." 

Hawke glares at her. "It isn't - and before you ask, no, I'm not showing it to you."

To Fenris, he sends, _You sent that on purpose!_

_**Fenris** _ _(12:07)_  
_Well I didn't send it by accident_

_**Hawke** _ _(12:07)_  
_I mean you knew the reaction I would have! Isabela is asking me if it's a dick pic!_

_**Fenris** _ _(12:08)_  
_Tbh if I sent that I think you'd have a heart attack or st ;)_

_**Hawke** _ _(12:08)_  
_Omfg!!! PROBABLY. But you look so good, fucking hell_

_**Fenris** _ _(12:08)_  
_Something to tide you over til our date. What are we doing btw?_

_**Hawke** _ _(12:09)_  
_I was thinking dinner or is that too boring?_

_**Fenris** _ _(12:09)_  
_Never boring w you Hawke. I'll let you choose the place_

"Do I need to confiscate the phone?" Varric asks, pushing Hawke back into the living room, where everyone else has already gathered. "We had a minimal texting rule, remember? If you prefer you can go to one of the spare rooms and talk it out."

"A warning though!" Isabela says, stepping up to him and putting a hand to his chest, winking suggestively. "If you do that I'm totally standing outside the door and listening in."

That starts Bethany giggling again, and despite his warnings about no-texting, Varric has his own phone out and is tapping away, though Hawke's pretty sure he's actually making notes for his awkward-romance novel. 

"No confiscating, and no private time needed. Just give me a minute."

_**Hawke** _ _(12:11)_  
_Everyone's telling me to either get off the phone or call you for phone sex so I better go_

_**Fenris** _ _(12:11)_  
_For what it's worth, I'm kind of drunk and not opposed to phone sex with you and your voice. I like your voice, Hawke. A lot. Maybe next time_

It takes a lot of effort not to react visually to that.

_**Hawke** _ _(12:12)_  
_!!!!!!_

_**Fenris** _ _(12:12)_  
_I'll let you go before I traumatise you any more. I'm looking forward to dinner with you, Hawke. I'd like to kiss you again. I hope we do more too_

_Fuck fuck fuck_ , Hawke thinks, followed closely by _Yes yes yes_.. 

_**Hawke** _ _(12:12)_  
_Me too. Goodnight Fenris xxx_

_**Fenris**_ _(12:13)_  
_Goodnight Hawke xx_

And with that Hawke puts his phone away decisively, before he can change his mind about the phone sex.

Varric and Isabela are looking at him expectantly - so are the others, though they're being more subtle about it - but Hawke just sits down next to Aveline, since she's probably the safest bet. 

Thankfully they let go of the subject of Fenris and phone sex and move onto plans for the new year.

An hour later, he crashes into one of Varric's spare beds by Anders's side. Given the extortionate prices of taxis on New Year's Eve they're all staying over. Varric's place is more than big enough, with three guest bedrooms. Hawke's not entirely happy about the thought of Isabela and Bethany sharing a bed, but he thinks back over the night, the way that Isabela treated Bethany with both affection and respect, and is able to let go of a little of his overprotectiveness.

Beside him in the darkness, Anders shifts and Hawke feels his eyes on him. "So do you wish you'd done the phone sex thing with Fenris?"

Hawke turns his head to the side. The curtains aren't very thick and let in some of the lights of London, creating an ambient glow that casts Anders in silhouette, emphasising his long nose - always one of Hawke's favourite features. There isn't enough light to see it but Hawke knows Anders well enough to be sure that there's a faint smile on his lips - not quite a smirk but a close cousin. "Not you too. You don't even like him!"

"No, but I do enjoy teasing you."

"Alright then; yes, I kind of do. But it would have been rude to do that at someone else's house."

Anders laughs then, turning onto his side do that he's facing Hawke. It makes Hawke feel a little odd, to be sleeping in the same bed with this man he's had sex with, that he was almost in love with. Not that he wants to do anything with Anders; just that the two of them as just-friends doesn't quite fit in here. "Oh Hawke, you have the strangest sense of propriety. We had actual sex at Isabela's place, remember? Really _good_ sex."

"Isabela's different and you know it. She would probably have complained if we _didn't_ have sex. Just - go to sleep, Anders."

With a snort, Anders rolls onto his other side. "Well, I hope you do have sex with him soon, phone or actual, because you _really_ need to get laid."

"Thanks for your diagnosis, Dr Anders." 

"Any time, Hawke."

Hawke closes his eyes. He's very aware that he needs to get laid - like, so aware - but Fenris isn't here right now; besides, he asked to take it slowly and Hawke is absolutely going to respect that wish. Normally he'd just have a slightly sad and very desperate wank, but if phone sex is out then jerking off in Varric's spare bed with Anders by his side is _definitely_ out.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes, and after a few sleepy thoughts of Fenris, he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter! I've been super busy and don't currently have internet access at home (it's hellish, let me tell you) but with any luck we're back to weekly updates. I'm currently posting this from a cafe in a supermarket (p much a Walmart) so that I can use their wifi, that's how much I love you guys xD


	15. Chapter 15

Hawke's about to leave to meet Fenris, but he needs a moment. He pauses on his sofa, breathing deep.

This is it: their first date. 

It's actually happening. 

Hawke's gotten reasonably dressed up in an ensemble similar to what he wore for New Years, since Fenris seemed to like that. _He_ thinks he looks good, too, his beard freshly trimmed with the grooming kit his mum got him for Christmas, his hair washed and styled, and a touch of sandalwoody cologne dabbed on his pulse points. 

Fenris likes him; he likes Fenris. Everything is in place for a stellar first date, and if Hawke feels a tingle of nervousness, well, it wouldn't be _him_ if he wasn't having a minor panic about something or other. 

"Alright," he says aloud and gets to his feet. "Let's do this."

He pulls on his jacket and heads out. Since Fenris has never been to Greenwich before, Hawke's meeting him at the station. The restaurant Hawke chose is local. Since this is an important occasion he decided on his favourite place in London, an Italian restaurant just down the road from his flat. Everything he's ever had from there has been delicious, so he's trusting that Fenris will like it.

Please let Fenris like it.

Although he's been a lot calmer around Fenris lately, since he's sure Fenris likes him back, he's still feeling a tingle of nerves right now. It's fine, everything's fine, he tells himself, but it doesn't stop his heart from racing as he rounds the corner and sees the station. And just outside, Fenris is already there, waiting. 

God, he looks good. In black skinny jeans and what look like new black Chucks, with his usual jacket and knitwear. His hair peaks out from under his beanie, a bright contrast against the black wool, and when he catches sight of Hawke he smiles. There's a touch of nervousness to it that makes Hawke smile too - at least he's not the only one.

"Hey," Hawke says, wondering whether he should kiss him in greeting. He wants to, but it seems a bit much, so he stays where he is with his hands in his pockets. 

"Hey." Fenris straightens from where he's been leaning against the wall. They look at each other for a moment and then without any input from his brain Hawke's body is moving to pull Fenris into a hug. There's a surprised intake of breath from Fenris, but then he leans his head against Hawke's chest, arms going around his waist. 

"I missed you," Fenris says, his voice muffled, and Hawke smiles into his beanie and hugs him a little tighter.

"I missed you too. Did you have fun?"

"Yes, thank you. I've always liked Berlin. And it was good to see my friends again." He pulls back to look up at Hawke, and readjusts his beanie. "Much as I'm enjoying this my feet are freezing. Can we go somewhere warmer?"

"Of course. I booked a table for eight so we could get a drink beforehand."

"Lead the way."

Hawke sets off, and when Fenris takes his hand, Hawke feels so happy he feels like he might be glowing. Holding hands with Fenris, he decides, is pretty much the best thing ever. Even though they're both wearing gloves so there's far too much fabric between their bare skin, it's still pretty great. 

On the way to the pub, they pass Hawke's flat and he points it out.

"Hmm,” Fenris says, looking over at it. “Not exactly just across the road from the station."

"Sorry?"

"When you loaned me your umbrella back in - September, I think it was? You said you lived across the road from the station."

"Oh!" Caught in a lie. One he barely remembered, and he's strangely pleased that Fenris did. Hawke shrugs, since Fenris seems more amused than upset. "Like I said at the time, I didn't want my favourite barista getting ill." He pauses and squeezes Fenris's hand. "Although you're on the fast track to being my favourite full stop, these days."

Fenris looks up at him, eyes wide, and he cocks his head. "Don't tease, Hawke."

"I'm not teasing. I mean it." Is that too much? Proof that Hawke is far too pathetic to actually date? He's about to start a panicked spiel about how Anders says he's a good boyfriend once they get past the first few dates - because mentioning Anders-the-ex in front of Fenris, who instantly hated him, will _surely_ make everything better - but before he can, Fenris smiles and shakes his head.

"I do like a man who speaks his mind, Hawke."

"Well, that's me,” Hawke says, releived. “Anything that comes to my mind, anything at all, I just blurt it out."

"I've noticed," Fenris says, but he's still here, he's smiling, and he's still holding Hawke's hand.

They arrive at the pub, which is just a few doors down from the restaurant. It's a small place, underground - all there is from ground level is a door and a small sign above it. It's relaxed, a bit quirky, with an emphasis on craft beers, but Hawke already checked that there are some good wine options for Fenris. He knows Fenris doesn't mind beer, but he wants tonight to be special.

Since it's Saturday night it's busy, but they manage to find a space at the edge of the room to prop up against a narrow shelf, just wide enough to put a glass on. Hawke gets their drinks in - he's decided to join Fenris on the wine tonight. He holds up his glass and says, 

"A toast! To us finally having our first date."

"Here's to many more," Fenris says, clinking their glasses together, and Hawke wants to kiss him for saying that, and for meaning it. Crowded as it is in here, it's loud and hardly romantic, but that's okay; the kissing can come later. 

Hawke takes a sip of wine. It's smoky and rich, complex in a way he wouldn't know how to begin to describe; oaky, ripe berries, all that kind of wine label stuff. Fenris is swirling his wine in the glass, though whether that's because it improves the flavour or just something to do with his hands, Hawke's not sure. From his expression, Hawke thinks it might be nervousness. 

"So," Fenris says. "Varric mentioned that you do some work with gangs?"

"Oh, yeah. He wanted the dirt because his next book is about London gangland."

"I thought you worked with the mayor?"

"I do. I'm one of the police liaisons. I get to be a bit police-y and a bit politician-y without actually being either. Mostly I go to meetings and try to get the higher-ups to see sense. Occasionally I meet with normal people - mostly ex-gang members, just because that's a big part of what Aveline does."

"Do you enjoy the work?"

"Definitely. It's hard, and I work far too much but it's very rewarding." Very stressful too, but this isn't the time for whining. "What about you? Do you enjoy being a barista moonlighting as a writer? Or is it the other way around?"

"The other way around,” Fenris says with a soft chuckle. “I do enjoy it, though. I've worked as a barista in three countries so I've gotten rather good at it. I really hope this is the last time though. I like Deep Roads but if I can sell my novel for a decent amount I'd leave in a heartbeat."

"Oh yeah?"

Fenris nods and sips his wine. "After a long day at work it's hard to have the energy to write as well. To just be able to write would be incredible." He smiles then, meets Hawke's eyes, and Hawke's heart beats a little faster. God, he has beautiful eyes. "Although Varric's told me that the thrill might wear off rather quickly."

After they finish their drink, they head over to the restaurant.

It's pretty low key, with the emphasis on the food rather than fancy decor. Most of the furniture is made from reclaimed wood, which gives it a pleasantly rustic feel. It has an open fire, comfortable seats and extensive menu. And wine - although it _is_ an Italian restaurant and it makes sense that they would have a good wine selection, Hawke still checked, to be safe.

"This is my favourite restaurant," Hawke tells him. "I know it's a bit out of the way for you but I wanted to bring you somewhere special."

"Oh?" Fenris grins at him, but the nervousness is clear in his eyes. "And here I thought you just wanted to bring me somewhere close to your flat."

Hawke's eyes widen. "You thought I had ulterior motives? Have you _met_ me? I can barely handle surface motives. Not that I don't want to take you back to my flat at some point. For a start, I'm a good cook and I'd love to make you something amazing. But - that wasn't my plan, Fenris. Honestly. I'm the type of person that likes to talk about that sort of thing first to make sure we're on the same page. Besides, you said you wanted to take things slow, so that's what we're going to do."

Fenris smiles then, looking down at the menu, but Hawke doesn't miss the relief in his eyes.

They order a bottle of wine to share, and when they order their food, the waiter comments that Fenris pronounces everything perfectly, and they have a brief conversation in Italian.

"I forgot you could speak Italian," Hawke says. "You sound great. I mean - you sound great whatever language you're speaking, but the Italian sounds nice."

Fenris meets his eyes and smiles, reaching across the table to take his hand. "You're such a charmer, Hawke."

"What? No! I'm the opposite of a charmer. You should know that by now. Whatever the diametric opposite of a charmer is, I'm it."

"Like I said last time, you're charming despite yourself. I like it."

"Well," Hawke says. "As long as you like it."

Hawke has his favourite meal in the world and it's wonderful as always, but when Fenris declares his meal delicious, his approval makes things taste even better. 

After good food and the shared bottle of wine, Hawke is full and satisfied and he would quite happily spend the rest of the evening cuddling. Favourite meal followed by favourite activity? Definitely a winning combination. He hopes fervently that Fenris is a cuddler. Not that he thinks it's going to happen tonight but eventually. Soon. He hopes.

After the meal, Fenris suggests they go back to the pub - he'd like to talk to Hawke a while longer. Hawke is more than happy with that, so he turns in the right direction and leads the way.

After a few steps, Fenris catches Hawke's wrist, and Hawke twists to look at him. Before he can do anything or even say anything, Fenris has grabbed his lapels and pulled him down for a kiss. Hawke is startled but very happy about this turn of events, and he turns around, shifting to face Fenris and hold him in his arms. They stay like that for a moment, sweet kisses suitable for a PDA, Fenris's lips sliding against Hawke's, warm and slick, with just the slightest hint of naughtiness. Hawke's cock starts to stir, but then Fenris pulls away, slightly breathless, and smiles at him.

"Good choice of restaurant, Hawke."

"You approve?"

"Very much. You have good taste."

Hawke chuckles and touches Fenris's cheek. "I really do."

Feeling happy and tipsy, with Fenris's hand still in his, Hawke is smiling as they go back into the pub. It's a little quieter now, and good timing means that they snag a table at the back of the room. The area's a little dark, the bulb above the table broken, but being lit mostly by the candle in the middle of the table makes it more romantic as far as Hawke is concerned.

They sit, discarding layers, and then Fenris picks up the drinks menu, perusing it for a moment. Hawke takes the opportunity to sneak a look at him without seeming like too much of a stalker. He still seems mostly relaxed, as he did over dinner, but there's a slightly pinched look, a furrow between his eyebrows. Hawke feels a ripple of panic that Fenris might not be enjoying himself. 

"Are you having a good first date?"

Fenris looks up and gives him a real smile, though the tension doesn't quite slip from his face. "I'm having a wonderful time. It's nice just to spend time with you. Knowing it's an official date just makes it all the better."

Hawke beams at him. "I think so, too."

Fenris goes to the bar as returns with a bottle of red wine. It has a bird on the label, and it's a merlot. Beyond that, Hawke's too tipsy and too happy to care much more. After pouring, Fenris takes a big drink and looks at Hawke for a moment, before looking down, focusing on his hands.

And then he says, "I have a criminal record." Just like that.

Hawke stares at him. "I – see." He pauses, trying to process that. 

“I thought since you're involved with the police, you should know before this goes any further. In case it affects your job.”

“I-” Hawke stumbles into silence, and then clears his throat. “Can– Can I ask what you – did?”

Fenris shrugs, still looking down at his hands. "It's - ironic. Maybe. Given your job. I was in a gang. In Rome."

Hawke blinks. All his brain offers him is white noise. "Rome, Italy?" Fenris frowns at him. "I'm sorry. I just. You kind of sprang it on me."

"Yeah. Sorry. I just - I need you to know. Before we go on another official date." He smiles, or at least his lips curve. "I didn't know if you would want- Or if, because of your job... Anyway. I thought you needed to know."

"I see." 

Fenris was in a gang. When he lived in Italy. Fenris. In a gang. Well, he's strong. And sometimes there's a certain - not exactly an air of danger, but- That tenseness. The look in his eyes. It's one Hawke's seen before, in former gang members. A hunted look. That life never leaves you behind. Not really. 

"Are you- Will you tell me more?"

"I suppose I should." Fenris drinks his whole glass of wine in one go and pours another with very steady hands, though his knuckles are white. "I moved to Italy when I was fifteen. Ran away. I'd been in and out of shitty foster homes for two years and I'd had enough. My dad had family in Rome, but he died when I was five, and I barely remembered him, never mind his relatives. But it was a hope. My last hope. Which didn't work out. I was homeless, barely spoke any Italian, and ended up pissing off the wrong people. They beat the shit out of me and nearly killed me, and I was rescued by - oh, let's call him a mafioso. He always thought of himself that way." Fenris is speaking clearly and coolly. Clinically, almost. As though he's putting himself at a remove from the memories. Again, something Hawke's seen before, but this is _Fenris_ , who likes _Champion of Kirkwall_ , who likes him, who's _kissed_ him, repeatedly. It makes it hard to process.

"His name was - is – Danarius,” Fenris continues. “He saved my life. Took me to the hospital, paid my bill. I owed him. And he wanted me as a bodyguard. It amused him, to have this little feral wolf by his side. I didn't kill anyone, or anything like that. He had professionals for that. I was - a pet. That he occasionally sicced on people. Apparently I was intimidating."

Hawke tries to take it all in, runs a hand through his hair. "Did you like it?"

"No," Fenris says, quickly and forcefully, and when he looks at Hawke there's fire in his eyes, but he looks away again quickly. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, shakily. Hawke thinks that he's not as far removed from these memories as he might wish. But shit – with memories like this – Hawke hates thinking about the bad things in his own life, like what happened to Carver and his dad. He can't even imagine what this is like for Fenris. What it was like back then. "But he was - nice to me. Sometimes. At first. It – it had been a very long time since anyone was nice to me. After that wore off, I tried to escape. Dararius caught me, and forced this on me." He gestures at his right arm. At the tattoos, Hawke realises.

"Oh."

"Yes. It's a gang tattoo. Or - it started off that way, when it was just the upper arm. He had his men hold me down and forced the needles into my skin. And then when it was done, he said that now everyone would know I was his. If I tried to run again, his allies would find me and bring me back to him. Or his enemies would find me, and hurt me to hurt him. That had happened recently. One of Danarius's men was captured and returned a few days later, castrated and missing an eye. And I was - weak. Young and stupid and scared. So I stayed."

"Jesus christ, no wonder," Hawke says. "I'd be terrified too. How old were you?"

"Still fifteen at that point. I amused Danarius. He kept adding to the tattoo. I didn't want it but - it didn't really matter what I wanted. Over the next few months I just got used to it. It was just what my life was. I was arrested when I was twenty and that's the only reason I got away from him. It sounds stupid to say that six months in prison was the best thing that could have happened to me, but it was." He shrugs.

"Six months..."

"I'd never really done all that much in the way of illegal activity. I was mostly for show, with a little bit of body guarding on the side. And I got a reduced sentence for helping put away some of Danarius's allies. Never him, though. I'd never speak against him. Not then, anyway. When I got out, I ran. I've been running ever since. And here I am." 

“Shit,” Hawke says, and shakes his head. He still doesn't know what to make of this, he doesn't know how to process any of it, but he knows one thing: "I'm so sorry, Fenris.”

“It's not something you need to be sorry for.”

“Still. I _am_ sorry. That it happened to you.”

There's a moment of silence, where Hawke looks at Fenris, and Fenris doesn't look at him. Protectiveness rears in Hawke, stronger than he's ever felt it. It's different to what he feels around Bethany, because that's an abstract thing. Bad things _have_ happened to Fenris, and he would do anything, _anything_ to protect him. He doesn't care if this is only their first date and feeling this intensely is way too much. Hawke cares about Fenris, fiercely, more than is perhaps wise, but being sensible has never been a strong point.

“Where does it leave us, Hawke?” He's not looking at Hawke. He's doing that thing he does, looking away, hiding under his hair. Hawke wants to reach over, brush it aside. Tell Fenris that he can trust him, that Hawke will _never_ hurt him. 

But he keeps thinking about the criminal record. That Fenris has been in jail. That he was in a gang.

“It's a bit of a shock,” Hawke says, wishing he was less drunk so that he could process this better. “I've met plenty of ex-gang members through work, but...”

“Will it affect your job? I mean - _can_ you date a criminal? If – you wanted to go on any more dates with me, I mean.”

“You've served your time,” Hawke says, and thinks _is this really happening?_ but not in a good way. “You don't even need to declare it on most job applications.” Oh good. Awkward Hawke is back. 

“True. But this is a little more than a job application.”

“Yeah.” He rubs his eyes again. “Thank you for telling me.”

He sees Fenris tense up, and finish his wine. There's a bitter twist to his lips. “If you want to end it, I understand.”

End it. Before it's even really begun. The thought fills Hawke with panic.

Hawke thinks back on the past few months of slowly getting to know Fenris. Of Fenris slowly relaxing and letting him in. Of the kisses, and the smiles. Fenris holding Hawke's hand on the train back from ice skating, after Hawke told him about his dad and Carver. Of teasing him about _Lord Hawke_. Whatever he was back then – well, it matters. Hawke can't ignore it. But this is who Fenris is now, and Hawke likes this Fenris, so much it makes his heart ache. So much that the thought of ending it fills him with much more panic than a criminal record ever could.

Besides – they have time to work through this. Just because they go on a second date doesn't mean that they're in this for life.

“I work with ex-gang members all the time,” Hawke says. “I know that your past doesn't dictate who you are. And I like who you are.”

“You can accept my past, just like that?”

Hawke sips his wine. “Honestly, Fenris, I need to think about it when I'm sober. But I like you. A lot. The way I see it, this is only our first date, right? It's not like we're getting married. I still want to go on a second date. If you do.”

“I do,” Fenris says quickly and gives Hawke a small, hesitant smile. “I really do.”

The rest of the night is like a normal date. A _good_ date. They talk about light stuff, they hold hands over the table, and both of them relax. Things are good between them. Complicated, maybe, more complicated than Hawke was expecting, but good. 

They're so engrossed with each other that neither of them notice the time passing until it turns 1am and the bar is closing. The trains have stopped. 

"There's a night bus," Fenris says, checking on his phone. He's leaning against Hawke's shoulder. He's warm, and his hair is soft, and Hawke is back to smiling uncontrollably. "One change." 

"You're welcome to stay at mine," Hawke says, then quickly adds. "I'll sleep on the sofa and you can have the bed. Or the other way around. I'm not suggesting-" Not that he would be opposed to the two of them in the same bed, but despite how well the rest of the date has gone, Hawke's still feeling a little raw from Fenris's confession, and can only imagine how Fenris feels. It must have taken a lot of courage to tell him that. 

"It's alright, Hawke," Fenris says, but his hand is still in Hawke's and he doesn't pull away. "The bus is fine."

"You sure you don't want to get a taxi?” Hawke says. “You can wait at mine until it arrives. God, I sound like I'm trying to pressure you into coming home with me. I'm not, I swear, I'm just worried about you."

Fenris pauses, and Hawke wonders if that was too much. But then Fenris shrugs and says, "I can handle myself, Hawke. After what I've told you tonight, you should know that."

Hawke goes to wait at the stop with him. There's a motley crew waiting there already, most of them drunk. Hawke doesn't feel drunk, but that doesn't really mean anything. They shared three bottles of wine over the course of the evening so, yeah, at least a bit tipsy. 

It's cold - it _is_ January - and ice glitters on the pavements and walls. Belatedly Hawke realises that Fenris is hunched up, hands in his pockets, his breath white in the air. 

"Do you want to huddle for warmth?" Hawke asks.

Fenris smirks, and nods. "Yes. Please." 

Hawke puts his arms around him, and Fenris rests his face against his chest. It's nice. Very nice. Especially when Fenris puts his hands in Hawke's back pockets. Just to keep them warm, for sure. Hawke supposes he's probably got a very toasty arse. 

"Good?" He asks, and against his chest, Fenris nods, and when he agrees, _good,_ his voice is muffled.

He can feel Fenris breathing, the way his back rises and falls with his breath. It's nice, and Hawke wishes the moment could last forever. Which is of course when the bus arrives.

They untangle themselves. Fenris glances at the rowdy queue that forms and looks back at Hawke. 

"Thank you for tonight. I had a good time." 

"Me too. We should do it again." 

"Next week?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely." 

They look at each other, and Hawke thinks _I want to kiss him_. And then Fenris steps forward, pulling Hawke down to do just that. It's wet and a little wicked, a touch of tongues and Fenris bites his lip, just once. 

God, he looks so hungry, and Hawke wants him so much. But when he glances up, the queue is gone and the bus driver is glaring at them. 

"I should go," Fenris says, and then steals another swift kiss. "See you Monday?" 

"Definitely. Text me when you get home." 

"You too." 

Hawke stands there in the cold January night, watches Fenris tap his Oyster card and then settle on a seat. They wave at each other, and keep eye contact as the bus pulls away. That was - great. Not all of it. The bit about Fenris being in a gang was - intense. But now Hawke knows about Fenris's past, and he doesn't care. Well, he _does_ care, and if he ever happens to meet this Danarius he'll punch him in the fucking face, and then call Aveline to get him arrested, but it doesn't change what he feels about Fenris. 

As he turns to head home, he finds himself smiling. It was an odd first date, but a good one.

He can't wait for the second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is being brought to you from a McDonald's so that I can use their wifi as we won't be connected until the 20th! I can confirm that their veggie burger is not that great. Once I do get internet, I have some awesome photos to share that I took from a recent trip to London, a day of which I dedicated to Finding Home-related excursions.
> 
> I'd apologise for the liberal use of game dialogue in this chapter but to be honest it makes me grin like a dork. 
> 
> Major thanks for this chapter goes to [Kazechama](http://kazechama.tumblr.com) for helping me out with this chapter, they're amazing and I'm very grateful <3
> 
> Oh, and part of Fenris's connection to Danarius is very similar to that in [Coffee, Black](http://archiveofourown.org/works/238633/chapters/366263), but if you'd believe it, I wrote this scene before I read that fic. I decided not to changed it because it's a great way for Fenris to be indebted to Danarius without Fenris being in any way at fault. As for Coffee, Black - I have since read it, and it's one of my favourite stories ever - not just fics, stories in general. I honestly can't recommend it enough, if you love fenhawke you need to read it. I could honestly wax lyrical about it for days, but I'll stop before I bore you xD


	16. Chapter 16

When Hawke steps into Deep Roads, it's empty, other than Merrill and Fenris behind the counter. It's unusual for a Monday - normally it's full of commuters hungry for caffeine. Not that Hawke is complaining, if it means he gets a bit of Fenris-time.

As he approaches the counter, Merrill waves at him. “Good morning, Hawke! Fenris tells me that your first date went very well.”

“Did he?”

“Oh, he didn't want to. Not a big sharer, our Fenris. But I have ways of getting information," she says with a wink.

“By badgering me non-stop for two hours,” Fenris says drily, and she laughs.

“It worked, didn't it?” She pats him on the arm and gestures at the empty tables. “Go talk to Hawke while we're quiet. I'll watch the counter.”

Fenris gets Hawke's coffee for him first, and then they sit down. Fenris glances up, meets Hawke's eyes just for a moment and then scratches absentmindedly at some graffiti on the table top.

“So. Have you had a chance to think about things sober?” He asks, his voice a little tight. Hawke reaches over and takes Fenris's hand, and his gaze leaps up, meeting his eyes before darting away again.

“I have,” he says. In fact, it's all he could think about on Sunday. He went out for a pub lunch with Anders, but was distracted nearly the whole time. Anders just rolled his eyes at him and cheerfully told him that he's pathetic, but it's not like Hawke could have told him _why_ he was thinking about Fenris so much. Well, not the criminal record stuff, anyway, though Hawke was also thinking about everything else, the good stuff - the date in general, the kissing and the hugs. He was thinking about that a lot.

“And?” Fenris asks.

“And I stand by what I said. I like you a lot, Fenris. What was in your past – well, it's past." In the end, it was the only conclusion Hawke could come to. He likes Fenris much too much to not explore this. "I'm more interested in your future. For example, when you'd like to go on that second date.”

Fenris laughs, relieved, and hangs his head again. “Hawke,” he whispers, and then interlaces their fingers. “Thank you. I – I've rarely told anyone about that before. I was afraid-” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “I saw a flyer for a beer tasting night at a pub near me, this Thursday. It made me think of you. Perhaps we could go to that?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Fenris says. “I have something for you. Wait here.”

He nips into the back room, glancing at the queue that's formed – with a sigh, Hawke acknowledges that they'll both have to get back to work soon. Fenris comes out shortly afterwards with a box in his hands, wrapped in silver. With a smile, he hands it to Hawke.

“It's not much, and it's a bit late, but Merry Christmas, Hawke.”

Hawke looks up at him, touched. “You didn't have to, Fenris.”

“No, but I wanted to.”

Grinning, Hawke opens it. It's all in German, but the picture makes it clear what it is. Peanut butter chocolates.

“This is amazing!” Hawke stands to kiss Fenris firmly on the lips, then pulls back – it's kind of inappropriate what with Fenris being at work – he's still wearing his apron and everything. But Fenris only pulls him back, kisses him again.

“I didn't know what to get for you, but Bethany suggested that this is always a winner with you.”

“It is! I love it! Thank you so much. Seriously. And I'm sorry yours is late, but I'm having it specially made and it's not arrived yet.”

Fenris frowns at him. “But you already gave me gifts.”

“Birthday gifts, yeah. This is for Christmas.”

Fenris blinks, looking a bit bewildered. But then again, that he isn't used to being given gifts shouldn't be a big surprise, knowing what he knows about Fenris's past.

“I-” Fenris looks like he's about to say something more, but he smiles instead. “Thank you, Hawke. I need to get back to work, but I'm looking forward to Thursday.”

“Me too,” Hawke says, and is delighted when Fenris gives him another quick kiss before heading back behind the counter.

===

Knowing that they're having a date on Thursday and seeing each other every day until then is unbearable. Fenris has these flirty little glances he reserves just for Hawke, and every damn day Hawke's left Deep Roads half hard.

Thursday finally arrives, and the instant he gets into the office, Hawke knows it's going to be a bad day. Coffee in hand and a smile on his face from the brief interaction with Fenris, the smile drops as soon as he sees that Aveline is waiting for him in his office and frowning deeply.

“Good morning,” Hawke says to her. “Everything alright?”

“Not really.” She folds her arms. “Things are getting violent with the Qunari and we're struggling to contain it.”

Hawke stares at her, and then looks through his door at Saemus, who's typing at his computer. He and Ashaad are still together, closer than ever from what Hawke can tell.

“The Qunari are getting violent?”

“Yes – well. It's complicated.” Aveline rubs her eyes. “There's a French gang called the Chantry, who are trying to get a foothold in London. They've been kept out for years, but as much as I'd like to say that it was the police doing that, it was mostly the other gangs. The Qunari especially. The Chantry is a little like them – they have their own philosophy, just as the Qunari do, and the two aren't exactly compatible.”

“So there's a natural rivalry.”

“Exactly. But for some reason, the Chantry are making a real push to get in here, and they're targeting Qunari. It's getting ugly.”

Hawke nods, both with sympathy for the headache that this is causing Aveline, as well as the danger that this latest gang is posing. Especially with this philosophical disagreement as well. Religious wars can be the nastiest of all.

“Excuse me?” Hawke glances over at Saemus, who is now standing in the door to Hawke's office and frowning. “You said that the Qunari are in trouble?”

Aveline looks over at him. This hasn't been in the papers yet so it must be at least a little confidential, but Aveline knows what she's doing. She didn't close the door behind Hawke when he came in - she wanted Saemus to overhear. She nods, once. “They are.”

“Ashaad hasn't said anything,” Saemus says, and folds his arms, almost hugging himself. “But we haven't been seeing each other as much lately – he says that he's been too busy. I hope he isn't in trouble.”

“He's probably trying to protect you, Saemus,” Aveline says. “The Chantry might well go after the Qunari's loved ones. The less the two of you are seen together, the better.”

“I'm not going to hide in a corner while Ashaad might be in trouble!” Saemus says, pulling himself up to his full height, which is about half a foot shorter than Aveline. God, he's so - so _naive_ , Hawke thinks, looking at him. Brave, too, and loyal as hell. Hawke really, really hopes that isn't about to get him into trouble.

“I'm sure Ashaad knows the best way of dealing with this,” he says softly before Aveline gets preachy and rubs Saemus the wrong way. “Why don't you call him tonight? Ask him about it. If he does think it's dangerous for the two of you to be together right now, at least you can still talk to him.”

Saemus nods, but his shoulders relax a little, and some of the tension eases. “Yes. I suppose you're right, Hawke. But I can't help worrying about him.”

“Of course,” Hawke says, clapping Saemus on the shoulder. “I know exactly how you feel.”

More than he ever thought he would.

Even if Fenris isn't in a gang any more, since he told Hawke about it, Danarius has never been far from Hawke's mind. He's been trying to think of a way to ask Aveline to look him up without compromising Fenris's privacy, but he's not thought of a way yet.

It's just that the bastard is still out there. Maybe he's given up on Fenris - it's been nearly a decade. But a man who forces tattoos on people like some sort of mark of ownership probably isn't the type to let go easily. Especially considering that Fenris has spent the last eight years living in half a dozen different countries, never staying in one place too long - Hawke's pretty sure that Fenris doesn't feel that he's entirely escaped Danarius's hold.

Promising himself that he'll think of a way to keep him safe, Hawke heads off to his meeting with Aveline.

===

By the time six o'clock rolls around Hawke is in a foul mood.

In addition to the news that Aveline brought with her, he's spent the last three hours in a meeting that should have taken an hour and a half, listening to Meredith (ugh) and Orsino arguing. Any suggestions Hawke made were ignored completely, and those put forward by the mayor himself met with only withering glances.

Absolutely nothing was resolved, and they've agreed to meet again tomorrow to try and come to an agreement.

Which probably means that he'll spend tomorrow afternoon feeling like he's standing far too close to a powder keg with everyone around him holding a match and a grudge.

Hawke _hates_ it. He's absolutely not in the mood for a date, but he doesn't want to cancel on Fenris.

 _Just think of the kissing that might happen,_ he tells himself, and that helps.

By the time he gets home, he still feels tense and frustrated. A shower helps a little. Chicken jalfrezi leftovers help even more.

As he eats, Hawke decides that he needs to cook for Fenris. He doesn't have that many skills to impress potential boyfriends, but cooking is definitely one of them. He really wants to impress Fenris - and he really wants Fenris to be his boyfriend, too.

When does that happen, he wonders? With other guys - not that he's exactly got a lot of experience in these things - it's been a brief and awkward conversation ending in mutual relieved laughter, usually after they slept together. He wonders if it'll be like that with Fenris. Maybe not - Fenris isn't like anyone Hawke has ever dated before. He's not like anyone he's ever _met_.

Well, he'll find out soon enough. Hopefully.

The thought makes him grin as he steps into his bedroom and opens his wardrobe. Deciding against plaid for once, he chooses a plain black sweater that he knows clings to his muscles nicely. It's totally a second date kind of sweater. He adds jeans and pulls on thick socks under his Docs because it's bloody cold outside.

As he checks his reflection, Hawke realises that he is much more relaxed about this date than he was about the first one. Maybe it's because he's reached maximum stress level for the day with work, or maybe it's just that this isn't such a milestone. 

Or maybe it's just because he knows Fenris so much better now, and he knows that both of them still want to give this a shot. 

Whatever it is, he's glad of it. This way, he can just enjoy the date without any of the accompanying awkwardness. 

Well, he's sure there'll still be some awkwardness – this is _him_ , after all.

But maybe for once, it'll be manageable.

===

This time, Hawke is doing the legwork.

He's meeting Fenris at Hackney station, since the bar is nearby.

It's nice to have a bit of a journey before the date, since it means that he gets to relax a little bit more, push all thoughts of work firmly to the back of his mind.

By the time the train gets to the station, most of the tension has faded away, replaced by excitement about date two. When he exits, Fenris is already there, waiting for him and smiling in greeting. This time, Hawke doesn't even have time to wonder whether or not a kiss is an appropriate greeting for a second date, because Fenris kisses him first. 

Hawke is so, so glad that he didn't cancel.

"Hey," Fenris says, brushing his hair out of his eyes. It's getting a little long, and Hawke is suddenly struck by the image of Fenris with long hair, in a braid. It makes him want to swoon. "How was your day?"

"Pretty awful. I could use a drink."

"Then let's go."

Hawke's amused when they get to the bar. He's glad he didn't wear a plaid shirt tonight, because he would have looked exactly the same as all the bearded, plaid-wearing hipsters here. All he's missing are the thick black-rimmed glasses.

They make their way past the crowd near the bar to an area marked off for the beer-tasting, and claim a table. There's a single tealight flickering, and when they sit, Fenris pulls off his gloves and puts his hands over it like it's a nice roaring fire.

“Cold fingers?” Hawke asks, and when Fenris nods, Hawke takes his hands in his, one by one, and rubs them until they're warm again. Fenris smiles at him almost shyly, and lifts one of Hawke's hands to his lips so that he can kiss the back of it.

“Thank you,” Fenris says, his cheeks slightly pink.

“Any time.”

They're handed a piece of paper with the various beers that they can try. There's a dizzying array of choices, from fruit ones, to ones with tea, and some that have a wincingly high alcohol content. They choose six between them and they're brought to their table in small glasses.

The person running the beer tasting gives them sheets with questions that they're asked to complete.

“Oh god,” Hawke says, reading through them. “I'm rubbish at this sort of stuff. You know how wine bottle labels go on about tasting of straw and cherries and summer rain? All I can ever taste is wine.”

“You don't have to fill it in,” Fenris says, but Hawke shakes his head.

“It's all part of the fun, right? But let's work together.”

Fenris nods, and the two of them taste each of their drinks, crafting increasingly dramatic descriptions. Fenris wins with _tastes like despair_ of a particularly intensely flavoured ale.

After they're done and they can drink normal beers again, Fenris gets them both a pint and then joins Hawke on the long bench that runs all against the back wall.

“Hello,” Hawke says, lifting his arm so that Fenris can get closer, as close as he wants. It turns out that's _very_ close, because he kisses him and smiles before resting his head on Hawke's shoulder, and putting a hand on his thigh.

“Hello,” Fenris says, and takes a sip of his drink. Then, very quietly, he adds, “I like you a lot, Hawke.”

“I like you a lot too, Fenris,” Hawke says, and kisses his forehead, and then on a whim, wraps his other arm around him and hugs him tightly. “So much.”

“So much,” Fenris agrees, muffled, and then lifts his head so that he can kiss him again. They get a little carried away, Fenris's hands sliding under Hawke's shirt, still a little cold, but that feels amazing against his skin, and he moans as Fenris scratches his nails lightly against his back. Hawke's own hand drops to Fenris's thigh, stroking up the side, then the front, and he can feel how strong Fenris's legs are, jesus, he needs to see him naked and soon, he must look _amazing_. They're thoroughly absorbed in each other, in touching and kissing and exploring, until someone clears their throat nearby. When they break away, breathing hard, a bearded, plaid-wearing, beanie-topped hipster points awkwardly at the table next to them.

“Is, uh, anyone sat there?”

“No,” Fenris says and moves back to his seat, since he was taking up most of the bench space for the next table. When he's sitting again, he grins at Hawke and reaches across the table to take his hand.

They leave when they finish their drink and make their way slowly back to the station. Cold as it is outside, Hawke is in no hurry to get on the train, away from Fenris.

When they do arrive at the station, their goodbye kiss gets rather involved, and by the time they finally pull away, their breathing is heavy and Hawke is achingly hard. Stealing one last kiss, Hawke goes to the platform and spends the journey home savouring the memory of Fenris's lips against his.

===

When Hawke does get home, he's glad to be in the warmth of his flat. Yawning, he pours himself a glass of water. Netflix loads on the TV while Hawke texts Fenris to let him know that he's home, and he considers whether or not to order take-out.

He's mostly decided against it – though pizza _does_ sound amazing right now – when his phone buzzes.

**_Fenris_ ** _(22:52)_  
_Glad to hear you're home safe. I had a good night tonight. I wish there'd been more kissing, though. I can't get enough of it, Hawke. If just kissing you is like that, I can't even imagine what it'll be like to do more with you_

**_Hawke_ ** _(22:52)_  
_I hope that one day you'll find out_

**_Fenris_ ** _(22:53)_  
_I'm not ready yet but I want you Hawke. I want to see you naked - God you look so good. Your arms are amazing and i wonder what the rest of you looks like. I wonder about that a lot_

Hawke groans then and touches himself through his jeans. He was already half-hard, his erection not quite having waned from their goodbye kiss. Actually, it seems like he's fated to end most of their dates half-hard. Not just the dates, even before that. Like Varric's party.

Fuck, but that was good.

He rereads the text, and licks his lips. He is almost sure of it: Fenris is trying to kill him.

**_Hawke_ ** _(22:53)_  
_If you tell me more this is going to turn into sexting. I'm serious_

The reply comes almost straight away.

**_Fenris_ ** _(22:53)_  
_Good. Let's do that. I'm hard, Hawke. All I can think about is undressing you and running my hands all over you. I wonder how much chest hair you have - I think you a fair bit. I like that. I'm thinking about getting on my knees in front of you and sucking you off_

"Jesus," Hawke gasps. This is unexpected. He reads it again, puts the TV on mute, and then reads it again while unzipping his fly and pulling his cock out of his jeans. He feels strangely self-conscious but there's no way he can resist. He starts stroking himself, slowly, shivering at how good it feels. He rereads the text and he thinks about it too, about Fenris on his knees, about what that would look like, feel like, and he whispers _fuck_.

 ** _Fenris_** _(22:54)_  
_I think about what you'd taste like, what kind of noises you'd make when you come. I want to know if your cock is as big as it feels when it's been pressed against mine, when we've been kissing. I want you, Hawke. So much_

Hawke gasps, and types, one-handed, _Fuck, Fenris,_ unable to think of anything more eloquent. And then adds, _I'm wanking right now, I can't help myself, this is so fucking hot_.

**_Fenris_ ** _(22:54)_  
_Good. Me too_

Hawke moans, low, biting his lip and tightening his grip, stroking himself a little faster as he thinks of Fenris, lying in bed, or maybe on a sofa, his tattooed hand sliding over his cock, his mouth open and breathing hard. The image comes to him with amazing clarity, making him moan again.

**_Fenris_ ** _(22:55)_  
_I want you to touch me, too. I want you to jerk me off, and I want you to kiss me while you do it. I want to know what your mouth would feel like around my cock. I wonder if you could deep throat me (Please don't answer I want to find out in person)_

**_Fenris_ ** _(22:55)_  
_And right now I'm thinking of you touching yourself while reading these texts and fuck, Hawke, fuck. I want to make you come, and I'm not ready to do it irl but maybe I can do it like this. I want you to come for me, Hawke_

As Hawke reads that last sentence, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, he hears that in Fenris's voice - _I want you to come for me, Hawke_ \- and that's it, the pleasure is like a sucker punch, he comes with a yell over his hand and stomach. He collapses back against the sofa, gasping, letting the phone slip from his hand so that he can cover his eyes. He's shaking and he wishes Fenris was here so that he could feel his arms around him, so that he could hold him as he comes down.

As it is, he grins, imagining Fenris's smile, imagines kissing him and bringing him off too, just as Fenris described. Eventually he moves, pulling off his sweater carefully since it's covered in come, and cleans himself up. He considers a shower but decides he's too exhausted, and just washes up before going back to his phone.

He's never actually sexted before. What are you supposed to do? Tell them you came? Thank them? Hawke decides it's only polite to do both.

**_Hawke_ ** _(22:57)_  
_I did, and it was amazing. Thank you. Do I return the favour? Because I want to do everything to you. I want to make you come in as many ways as I can, I want to make you feel so good, Fenris_

There's a longer pause before Hawke's phone buzzes again, long enough for him to change into his pyjamas. 

**_Fenris_ ** _(23:01)_  
_You just did, Hawke. That was the best wank I've had in a long time. I can only imagine actually being w you will be even better. Let's do this again_

With a groan and a grin, Hawke lets his head fall back on the cushion. That's probably the hottest text of the night. He just made Fenris come. Fenris just came, because of him.

Jesus.

Hawke's never really done the sexting thing before, but after that, he is so up for doing it again.

**_Hawke_ ** _(23:01)_  
_Anytime xxx_

He's grinning as he goes to bed, feeling thoroughly blissed out in a way he rarely does when he comes on his own. But then, he wasn't exactly on his own, was he? 

After the shitty day at work, who knew he'd go to bed feeling like this? 

Hugging a pillow to himself, Hawke grins. 

This is easily the best second date he's ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the fic reaches it's Mature rating promise xD (Don't worry, there's much, much more to come). It's also (hopefully!) the last time it will be brought to you from McDonalds. 
> 
> The long-haired Fenris with a braid is all over tumblr (and also in a half-written post-Inquisition fic I may never finish) but I added that because I saw it on the amazing [fenrispls's](http://fenrispls.tumblr.com) tumblr the other day. Give me all the long-haired Fenris.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Fenris_** _(12:05)_  
_Will you wear those black jeans for our date tonight?_

Hawke's on his lunch break, eating an uninspiring sandwich at his desk, when he gets the text. He doesn't bother asking which jeans Fenris is talking about. They're infamous now, those jeans. 

**_Hawke_** _(12:05)_  
_Pervert_

 ** _Fenris_** _(12:06)_  
_;)_

The exchange gets him through the afternoon, and when he gets home, Hawke _does_ put on the jeans. Looking at his reflection makes him blush – Isabela was definitely right about them. Jesus, how did he not notice before? 

With a sudden attack of shyness, he almost takes them off, but no – Fenris wanted to see them. And Hawke supposes it _is_ his right to know what might be in store, should they ever get to that point. 

And this _is_ their third date. 

Hawke pushes aside the thought, reminding himself that Fenris wants to take things slowly. As much as he'd _like_ to take the next step with Fenris, it's all up to him. 

Hawke puts on the greatcoat that he usually wears for work, since it's long enough to cover his – ah, package – and heads out. 

When he gets to the cinema, the instant Fenris spots him, he grins wickedly. After giving him a quick kiss in greeting, he starts to unbutton the coat to see what Hawke's hiding underneath. 

“Fenris!” Hawke says, pretending to be shocked, but mostly trying not to laugh at Fenris's overeagerness. 

“I want to see if you're wearing- _Oh.”_ Fenris says, stepping back so that he can admire Hawke in all his black-jeaned glory. _”Very_ nice, Hawke.”

“Thank you. I suppose.” 

“I mean it,” Fenris says with a chuckle, but there's heat simmering in his eyes that makes Hawke swallow. Fenris gets his phone out and steps back again. “Wait there,” he says, taking another step back so that he can get a full body photo of Hawke. 

Hawke shrugs out of his coat – if they're doing this, they might as well do it properly – and strikes his best fashion model pose. Fenris laughs, a deep, rich sound, tapping his screen as he takes a series of photos.

Fenris takes a step closer, takes another one. Another step, another photo. The last one is close up, a portrait.

“You won't get the jeans in that picture,” Hawke points out.

“No. Nor this one,” Fenris says, moving to stand by Hawke's side and switching to the front-facing camera so that he can take a selfie of the two of them. He shows it to Hawke.

Hawke's startled by how _good_ the picture is. It's bright and sharp, but more than that, it's _real_. That photo – the people in that photo clearly like each other so much, the way they're leaning towards each other, their easy smiles, the affection in their eyes. 

“We look good together,” Fenris says, looking up at Hawke, hand resting lightly on his chest.

“We really do.”

After getting Fenris to send him the picture, they stock up on overpriced drinks and snacks, and take their seats. They've come to a nice cinema with sofas and lots of legroom for Hawke. As the lights go down, Hawke feels a flicker of nervousness about taking Fenris's hand. Which is silly because they've held hands lots of times. But this is an official-date hand holding, and-

 _Oh good lord,_ Hawke thinks, disgusted with himself, and reaches for Fenris's hand where it rests on his lap. Fenris's fingers curl around his, and in the light of the cinema screen, Hawke sees him smile. 

See? Easy.

Hawke enjoys the movie but most of his concentration – as always – is on Fenris. On the warmth of his hand; on the soft chuckles at jokes. Just sitting next to Fenris makes Hawke almost unbearably happy. He still can't quite believe that this is happening to him, and that it's all going so _well_.

When it's over and they're out in the brisk January air, a few snowflakes drifting down to earth, Hawke takes Fenris's gloved hand in his. There's not even any internal wrangling this time.

"Do you want to get a drink?" He asks, glancing aside because there's something lovely about Fenris in the soft light of a snowy night.

"Actually, since it's our third date,” Fenris says, coming to a stop and looking into Hawke's eyes. “I was rather hoping you'd take me home."

And there goes Hawke's cool.

Oh god, did he really – did he really just ask that?

“Back to my flat?”

“Yes.”

Hawke licks his lips. "I – are you sure?”

“Very sure. Do you want to?”

“Oh god yes."

"Then lead the way, Hawke."

As they sit on the train, Hawke tells himself that this might not mean anything. Fenris might just mean have a drink at Hawke's place. But then, why mention the third date?

Considering how many times they've kissed rather scandalously on public transport, it's strange to be sat by Fenris's side, on the way to possibly see each other naked for the first time and be so _proper_. Which isn't a word that Hawke has ever applied to himself before. But Fenris has his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, looking at the ads opposite with the glazed look of someone who's seen them a hundred times before. Normal tube-riding expression. Hawke doesn't think _his_ face is doing anything normal – which to be honest, _is_ his normal.

They finally arrive at Hawke's flat, and his heart is racing as he unlocks the front door. “It's not quite the Hawke Estate, but-”

And then Fenris is pushing him through the open door and slamming him against the hallway wall, and he's kissing him, biting at his lips, desperately needy, ferociously hungry, and it makes Hawke's head spin.

“Fenris,” Hawke gasps, not wanting to stop the kiss but needing to ask. “Are you – are you sure you want to–”

“I need it,” Fenris says, and kisses him again, slick and desperate. Hawke feels his whole body shudder against his. “Especially after those texts the other night. I _need_ this, Hawke.”

“Alright,” Hawke says, and licks his lips. “Just – any time you want to stop, or slow down-”

“I'll tell you, yes,” Fenris says, and starts kissing him again, his hands plucking open the buttons of Hawke's coat and then pushing it off his shoulders. It falls to the floor heavily, and then Hawke yelps as Fenris grabs his ass, pressing their hips together. 

“Wait, let me open the door,” Hawke says, gasps, grabbing his coat from the floor as he unlocks the door. He discards it as soon as they're in the flat, and he grabs Fenris, needing to kiss him again. He's never wanted _anyone_ this much, ever. Maybe it's just the slow burn of their relationship, how long it's taken them to get here, but his whole body _aches_ with need. 

Fenris is pulling his own coat off now without breaking the kiss, then the beanie, the gloves, the scarf, all of them being dropped carelessly to the floor. His hands slide under the hem of Hawke's sweater, his fingers still cold from the winter night outside, and Hawke shivers at the sensation. 

“Bedroom,” Fenris says, the low burr of his voice going straight to Hawke's cock, making him even harder, if that's remotely possible. 

Hawke nods eagerly and keeps Fenris in his arms, keeps kissing him as they make their way out of the living room, banging into the coffee table and the sofa as they go and not caring in the slightest. 

Hawke reaches behind him as they reach the door, searching for the handle and not finding it. With a low growl, Fenris reaches around him to grab it and pushes the door open, pushing Hawke through the next second. 

Breaking away from the kiss for a moment to turn on the bedside lamp, Hawke takes advantage of the lull to look at Fenris. Fenris, in his bedroom. Fenris, whose lips are slick and red from their kisses, whose hair is a mess – Hawke might have been grabbing at it – and whose cock is clearly very hard in his jeans. Hawke swallows down a moan at the sight of it, and then Fenris is kissing him again, pushing him towards a wall, finding a bookcase. 

Hawke gives a soft _oof_ as he hits it and then Fenris is pressing his body very close, all against him from head to toe, his thigh sliding between Hawke's making him groan. For a moment Fenris looks into his eyes. Hawke looks carefully for any hesitation, any doubt, but he doesn't see any. All he sees is hunger, need that he's sure is reflected in his own eyes. 

“I want to taste you,” Hawke whispers, licking his lips, and Fenris groans, nodding. “I want to suck your cock, Fenris.”

“Jesus christ, yes,” Fenris groans, and after stealing another kiss, Hawke drops to his knees. He doesn't just want this, he _needs_ to taste Fenris, as important to his continued existence as oxygen. He unzips his fly, reaches for the waistband of his briefs – grey, he notices – tugs down-

And stops.

Fenris has ink. Tattoos. On his cock.

Which is hard, and slightly curved, and it's gorgeous and Hawke still wants to taste - god, he wants that so much.

But-

He looks up at Fenris, who's looking away and holding himself tightly. Tense.

Hawke tries not to think of what Fenris told him about his tattoos. That they were forced on him. Tries not to think about how much it must have hurt. Hawke nearly fainted with his own tattoo and that's just on his arm. How much pain Fenris must have gone through because of-

Because of Danarius, he thinks, and his vision blurs with rage.

And Fenris is still tense.

Hawke touches his hip, following the line of it with his thumb.

Danarius did this to him. But he's letting Hawke touch him now. Trusting him.

The anger ebbs away. 

This is more important than Hawke's anger. Making Fenris comfortable. Making Fenris feel good.

"May I?" Hawke asks quietly, and Fenris blinks down at him.

"You still want to?" The doubt in his voice hurts Hawke's heart.

"More than anything, Fenris."

He looks down at him for a long time, and then he nods. "Yes. Please, Hawke. Make me feel- Just make me feel."

"I promise," Hawke says, and kisses his hip, a hand trailing around his body to splay at his lower back. Fenris gasps, just from that, then strips off his shirt, getting it out of the way.

The tattoos are just _everywhere_ , but Hawke pushes his reaction aside, about how beautiful they are, about how much he hates that Fenris has them. This isn't the time. 

So he licks at Fenris's cock, first following the line of the tattoo up his shaft, then all over, until it shines in the lamplight. He takes the head in his mouth and Fenris whispers his name, then bites his lip.

"You can be loud, if you want," Hawke says, and grins up at him. "I like knowing that I'm doing a good job."

"You are," Fenris says, his voice hoarse. "Now get on with it."

Hawke goes back to sucking his cock, taking him deeper, wanting to take all of him, but after a few moments Fenris moans and says,

"Fuck me, Hawke."

That startles Hawke so much that he pulls back. A blow job is one thing, but that – going all the way – is another. Fenris moans and reaches to pull Hawke back to what he was doing, but Hawke takes his hand, kisses it, looks up at him. 

“I thought you wanted to take it slowly, Fenris.”

“I've wanted this for four months, Hawke,” Fenris says, desperation flooding his voice. “I've been – I need this, Hawke, please.”

“Just the other day, when we were sexting,” Hawke says, feeling ridiculous using the word and also not quite able to believe that he's not immediately agreeing to the idea of sex with Fenris. He wants him more than he's wanted anyone for a long time, possibly ever, but he needs to be _sure_. “You said then that you weren't ready.”

“God, Hawke, you're making this difficult. Why do you have to be such a fucking gentleman?” Fenris runs a hand through his hair. “I've been thinking about it, alright? I can't _stop_ thinking about it. That's why – that's why I didn't want to drink tonight. Either of us. Because I wanted to be sure that I – we-” He stops, licks his lips and looks at Hawke for a moment before his gaze darts away. “Do you not want it?”

“So much, Fenris. But I need to be sure that you do.”

“I do, Hawke,” Fenris says, and meets his eyes as he says the words. There is no hesitation in them, or his voice. No doubt. 

Knowing Fenris's certainty, Hawke stands, letting his own want crash over him, and pulls Fenris into his arms, kissing him, feeling the hardness of his cock against his thigh. He wants Fenris so much, in every way he can have him, and if Fenris wants this, really wants it, then Hawke is so very happy to give it to him. Without breaking the kiss Fenris is unbuttoning Hawke's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and then running his hands down his arms, lingering on his biceps. When he moans Hawke chuckles into the kiss; ah yes, Fenris _is_ an arm man. He rakes his fingers through Hawke's chest hair as well, and that's good too, everything is good, Hawke doesn't thinking there's a single thing Fenris could do to him that he wouldn't like. 

He pulls back and Fenris looks up at him with dazed eyes. "Hawke, I need you," he says, and his fingers go to Hawke's fly, pulling open the button, unzipping. Hawke takes over, pushing his jeans down, but they only get as far as his knees before Fenris pushes him towards the bed. He's _desperate_ , slightly wild, and that's both a turn on and a compliment, that someone could want him that much.

Hawke loses his balance and half-collapses onto his bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress, legs stretched out long over the side and still tangled in his jeans. Fenris pauses long enough to bend down and pull them off along with his briefs, pull his own off, and then he's climbing onto Hawke and kissing him, his mouth wet and hot, his hands everywhere, Hawke's shoulders, his arms, his waist. Their cocks are pressed together and Fenris grinds his hips against Hawke's and _fuck_ he'd forgotten how good that felt. Skin against skin, cock against cock. Hawke's hands go to Fenris's waist, and he's so slim, so small compared to Hawke, and he wants him, he wants him, he's drowning in how much he wants him.

Fenris pulls back to gasp for a moment, then shifts so that he's lying on his back, his hair fanned out on the pillows behind him. Hawke looks, in awe, and when he doesn't move Fenris grabs him, pulling Hawke on top of him. They look at each other for a long moment. It tugs at Hawke's heart, looking into Fenris's eyes like that, he's so beautiful, he's amazing, and Hawke wants to fuck him but he wants to wake up with him, too, wants to see what he looks like in the morning, sleepy and smiling.

And then they're kissing again, hands all over each other, exploring, needing to touch everywhere. Hawke feels scars – more than he'd like, enough that he frowns – on Fenris's arms, his thighs, his chest. But he also feels deliciously toned muscle under hot skin, and he hears Fenris gasping his name, feels his tongue slide into his mouth, teeth bite at his lower lip. 

"Hawke,” Fenris gasps, pulling away and breathing hard. "Have - have you got a condom?" 

Hawke nods, kissing his nose and reaching into the drawer of his nightstand. He usually has a small cache of supplies just in case, mostly for occasional nights with Anders. But he's bought extras since he and Fenris started their official dates, not expecting that this would happen any time soon but liking to be prepared. Grabbing a condom and a tube of lube, Hawke drops the condom on top of the nightstand and sits up with the lube in his hand. Fenris watches him closely, his eyes dark, still breathing heavy.

“I'm, um,” Hawke starts. “I'm kind of big, though. Which you know. Because of the jeans. And I guess you can see now-” Oh my god, someone stop him, this is not the time for epic awkwardness. “Are you sure-”

“I'm sure,” Fenris says with absolute conviction, and Hawke nods, kissing him, pleased when Fenris responds with desperate hunger. 

When Fenris lets him go, Hawke flips the lid of the tube with his thumb, and then squeezes some onto his fingers. Glancing up at Fenris, he sees him grabbing the pillows, putting most of them under his head, one under his hips. 

With his other hand, Hawke gently pushes Fenris's legs further apart, and drops his hand, stopping just an inch from Fenris's skin. 

“Say stop any time-”

“God, Hawke, you're going to kill me. I've already told you, I will ask you to stop if I need to, or slow down, now _get on with it.”_

Putting one of the slick fingers to Fenris's hole, Hawke circles it gently, making Fenris bite his lip. He wraps the other hand around Fenris's cock and starts to stroke him slowly. 

“Trying to kill me,” Fenris repeats, and then his breath hitches as Hawke presses in. His eyes squeeze shut and Hawke can feel his whole body tense. He's about to pull away when Fenris whispers, “Don't stop. Don't stop, it's just – been a while.” He groans, and Hawke feels him relax a little. 

“We can go slow,” Hawke says, and Fenris nods, his eyes fluttering open again. Their gazes catch, and Fenris smiles at him. 

They do go slowly, Hawke opening Fenris up one finger at a time, ignoring his own desperately aching cock. Part of him is still shrieking in delight that this is happening, but most of him is concentrating on what he's doing, watching Fenris's reactions. At first it was to make sure that he was alright with everything, but now he's watching because Fenris's reactions are just _enchanting_. His gasps and moans and whines, the way that he writhes slightly under Hawke's touch and whispers _Yes_ when Hawke needs to be sure. 

Most of the time he's watching Hawke, too, as though he can't bear to look away. Whenever his eyes fall closed they snap open, find Hawke, and he smiles, relaxing again.

When Hawke's got three fingers deep inside him, Fenris holds his gaze and whispers, “Now, Hawke. Fuck me.”

Hawke nods, and kisses Fenris without removing his fingers, and Fenris's lips shake, his arms go tightly around his neck. 

“I need this,” he whispers, and Hawke nods, kissing him back. 

“I'll always give you anything you need.”

He sits up, grabs the condom and rolls it on. Fenris's eyes are on him the whole time, watching as he squeezes a generous amount of lube onto his cock. Fenris shifts a little, angling his hips up slightly, to make it easier. 

Hawke moves slowly, positioning himself over Fenris, watching carefully for any doubt or hesitation. If Fenris is going to change his mind about this, he wants to know immediately. But all he sees is need and want and affection, as strong as his own. 

As the tip of his cock brushes Fenris's hole, their eyes meet, and Fenris whispers, _yes_. 

And Hawke presses in. 

Fenris cries out, but then grits his teeth and gasps, _Don't you dare stop._

He's so tight, he's so fucking tight, oh jesus-

Then Fenris pulls him down and they're kissing as Hawke slides into him, brief kisses so that they can both gasp and look at each other as Hawke gets deeper and deeper, sinking into Fenris's body, slowly, so slowly. 

And he's still so tight, but he's relaxing, he's letting Hawke in, so good, so fucking good. 

“Fenris, _Fenris,”_ Hawke whispers, and Fenris is whispering Hawke's name, too. 

Until Hawke's hips meet Fenris's ass, and there's a moment of silence as they just look at each other. 

Hawke's all the way inside Fenris. 

This is real. 

This is really happening. 

“Good?” Hawke whispers, and Fenris nods eagerly. 

“Good.”

“More?”

_“Yes.”_

Slow, careful, with all the control he can muster, Hawke starts to thrust into Fenris, the feeling of him so tight around his cock almost unbearably good. He forces himself to stay slow, enjoying the way it makes Fenris's eyelids flutter, the way it makes him smile, the way that Hawke's name breaks on his lips. 

With a shaking gasp Fenris really _relaxes_ , opens up for him, staring at him with those forest green eyes. 

It's so good, it's more than anything Hawke hoped it would be in his late night jerk-off fantasies, it's so much _better_ because it's real. 

They're kissing and he's inside Fenris, he's drowning in him, they're both shaking. The pleasure builds quickly, almost brutally, threatening to snatch Hawke's control away. It's hard to breathe, and fuck, he wants to come, he's right on the edge, but he needs Fenris to come first. 

“I want to see you come,” Hawke whispers, and Fenris nods, wraps his hand around his own cock, and as he starts stroking himself his head falls back on the pillows. 

“I forgot – this is better than – oh god, Hawke, you feeling so fucking good, I-” His other hand grabs Hawke's forearm, nails digging into his skin, little spots of pain that are instantly drowned out by pleasure. They're still looking at each other and Hawke can see control spiralling away from Fenris as how _good_ everything is overcomes him. Under his breath he's whispering Hawke's name, and that's the best thing Hawke's ever heard, that voice, his name, and he's inside Fenris, and Fenris is going to come for him-

And he does, almost silently, nothing more than a gasp as his eyes hold Hawke's and his body tightens around him-

“Fuck,” groans Hawke and then he's in freefall, everything too good, too much, too tight, Fenris Fenris _Fenris_ , and Hawke is coming inside him, shaking, his face pressed against Fenris's neck. He can see his tattoos, his skin, feel his hair brushing against his cheek. Fenris's arms are around him, painfully tight, and he's whispering _Hawke_ , kissing his hair. 

When Hawke finally manages to lift his head, he gives an exhausted grin, brimming over with bone-deep satisfaction, _happy_ in a way that he can't remember being in a very long time. 

Fenris gives him a look of something like wonder, or awe, and then they're kissing, losing themselves in each other all over again. 

When he's finally able to breathe something like normally, Hawke pulls out and Fenris winces - Hawke whispers _sorry, sorry_. 

He grabs a fresh towel from the wardrobe, the nicest and softest one that he has, and cleans Fenris up. Fenris just lies there, watching him, warm and relaxed, with a thoroughly fucked-out smile on his face. It takes a while to get cleaned up since Hawke keeps stopping to kiss every inch of skin, but finally he's done. He casts the towel vaguely in the direction of the washing basket and kisses Fenris's belly.

“You want some water?”

“Yes, please.”

After getting them both a glass and drinking deep, Hawke slides under the covers and cuddles up against Fenris. Fenris – feeling a little bossy, it seems – pushes Hawke onto his back, and rests his head on his chest. 

“That was amazing,” he says, very quietly. Hawke kisses the top of his head. 

“Yeah,” he says, holding Fenris a little tighter. “We took a while to get there but it was absolutely worth it.”

They lie there in each other's arms, sharing warmth, and Hawke listens to Fenris's breathing, marvels at how lucky he is. Fenris is here, he's really here, in Hawke's bed, in his arms. This was not remotely what he expected to happen tonight, but here he is. Here they are. 

“Oh,” Hawke says, a thought breaking through his cloud of bliss. “I should give you your Christmas present. It arrived yesterday. It's, uh. A little bit jokey, but not really. Kind of."

“Now I'm intrigued,” Fenris says, lifting his head and propping himself up on his elbow.

Hawke gives him a quick kiss, unable to help himself, and then stands, padding across the floor to his desk. The heating isn't on so it's bloody freezing, so he grabs the gift from the drawer and returns to the warmth of the bed as quickly as he can.

He hands it over and Fenris turns it in his hands, gazing at the shimmering red paper and white ribbon for a moment before opening it just as carefully as he did the birthday gifts. Hawke is still on the fence over whether this is an awesome present or whether it'll seem horribly self-indulgent, but he supposes he's about to find out.

Fenris opens the box and takes out the contents: a long length of red silk, a silver token along its length stamped with Hawke's family crest. 

“Here, let me,”Hawke says, taking Fenris's right wrist and kissing the inside of it before starting to wrap the silk around it. It goes around several times and then Hawke tucks the ends in neatly. It looks as good as he hoped it would. Although he's rarely seen Fenris wear colour, red is Hawke's favourite, and he thought it would suit Fenris. 

Fenris lifts his wrist, turning it this way and that. He laughs, but it's a delighted laugh, and he looks at Hawke with a smile warm as the sun.

"Why, Lord Hawke, what is this?" Fenris asks. "A gift for a commoner like me?"

"Indeed it is,” Hawke says, taking Fenris's hand and kissing the back of it. “A token of my favour."

"A thousand thank yous, my lord," Fenris says with a teasing smile.

"So – you like it? I wasn't sure if it was a bit silly, or self-indulgent. You can take the crest off and just have the silk-"

"I love it," Fenris says as he lowers his arm and runs his fingers over the crest stamped into the silver. “And I never want to take this off.” He looks up then and slides his hand around the back of Hawke's neck and pulls him closer.

They kiss, lazy and tired and slow, and Hawke feels like he's never going to stop smiling ever again. Fenris looks happy too, and Hawke kisses his smile. He feels incredibly sappy, but he has no problem with that. 

When the lights go out and Fenris spoons up against him, letting Hawke be the little spoon, Hawke is still smiling as he drifts into sleep. 

===

Before Hawke's even properly awake he knows that something's wrong. 

The bed is empty beside him, and it shouldn't be.

 _Shit,_ Hawke thinks, panicked, looking around – and then feels a rush of relief as he sees Fenris near the window, looking out of it. 

But Fenris is dressed. He has his coat on. 

“Fenris?” Hawke asks, sitting, the panic ratcheting back up. “Was it that bad?” The words tumble out of his mouth, a terrible, awkward joke while his brain thinks of something better, but nothing comes to mind. 

“No,” Fenris says, and looks over his shoulder at him. “It was fine.” Hawke winces, and Fenris turns all the way around to face him. “I didn't – it was amazing, Hawke. I never thought- I never dreamed-” He shakes his head hopelessly, but he stays where he is, on the other side of the room, as far away from Hawke as possible. And he's dressed, he's ready to go – god, he's going to leave. 

Hawke mind races as he tries to think if he did something wrong. “Did – did I hurt you? God, Fenris, I'm sorry-”

“You didn't hurt me, Hawke,” Fenris says, but his voice is raw he won't meet Hawke's eyes. “It's not that. It's– When we- Afterwards, the memories-”

“What do you mean?” Hawke's trying to understand, trying to figure out a way to fix this when he doesn't even know what _this_ is, but all his mind offers is _please don't leave, please don't leave me_.

Fenris shakes his head and then picks up his bag, puts it over his shoulder. 

“Fenris, please,” Hawke says, and he can hear the desperation in his voice. “I want to help you. Whatever it is-" He wants to stand, wants to go to Fenris, but he's absolutely certain that if he does, Fenris will run. If he stays where he is, maybe he can convince him, maybe he can understand what's happening here.

"I can't - I can't do this," Fenris says, and his voice cracks. "I'm not - ready. It's too soon. Too much."

"Fenris - lets talk about this."

Fenris shakes his head and looks away. "You don't understand."

"Then tell me."

"I can't. _I can't."_ The word breaks in half, and Hawke wants-

He wants the morning after he'd dreamed of. He wants to wake with Fenris by his side, wants to smile at him sleeping. Wants to cuddle up to him and hear Fenris grumble about being woken. Wants to say sorry and be forgiven with a kiss.

This is not what he wants.

"We can work through this," Hawke tries, he doesn't even care what _this_ is, he just doesn't want Fenris to leave. And more than that - he wants to _help,_ wants Fenris to stop looking like he's about to cry. He'd do anything to stop him looking like that.

"I'm sorry," Fenris says, and turns, walking to the door without even looking at Hawke. With his hand on the door handle, he says, "Forgive me."

And then he's gone, and Hawke lets him go, sitting, frozen, as he listens to muffled footsteps and then the slam of the front door.

He left, and Hawke-

His vision blurs and he clenches his jaw.

He _left._

Impulsively, Hawke picks up his phone. He wants to text Fenris or call him, beg him to come back, but has enough presence of mind to just turn it off. He lies down again but he can smell Fenris on his sheets and it makes his chest feel painfully tight.

Without thinking he strips the bed, throws the sheets in the washing machine, gets in the shower.

He can't stop thinking about it.

The 'I'm sorry'. 

Fenris walking away.

_What did I do wrong?_

The gift? But he said he loved it, looked delighted with it. He even teased Hawke about it, and he was just _happy,_ they both were, and now-

Hawke lifts his head, and lets the water run over his face.

He wants to be angry with Fenris for leaving but he just feels hollow. All of the dreams he'd been having for their future together, their happy ever after-

He gets out of the shower and dresses in worn jeans and a baggy t-shirt. He pulls on a sweater and then just stands there in the middle of his bedroom, confused and upset and hurting. 

His mouth works, as if he wants to say something, but he has no-one to say it to, and no words come out. 

Everything had been going so right. All the kissing, all the _I like yous_ , the hugs, the official dates. And after the sex – the fucking amazing sex – they'd cuddled, and talked, and Hawke had given Fenris his gift. They'd been happy, and content, and they'd been together, and everything was _fine,_ and now- 

And now Hawke is alone. 

He sinks down onto the bed. 

“Fenris,” he whispers, and drops his head in his hands.


	18. Chapter 18

Hawke doesn't speak much the next day.

He gets to work with a Starbucks cup in his hand and goes straight into his office, determined to not think of anything but work. Especially not-

Forcing his mind away from _that_ , from _him_ , Hawke turns on his computer and doesn't look away from it.

After an hour or so, Saemus hesitantly knocks on his door, asks if he's alright, and Hawke gives him a brittle grin and says _fine_. He doesn't think Saemus believes him, but he doesn't push, and Hawke is glad because he thinks he might break if he did.

He tries to tell himself it had only been the third date. But he's liked Fenris - oh fuck it, why not go all in? He's been in _love_ with Fenris for months now, in love with those green eyes, with the small smiles, with the tattoos. In love with the soft, low voice, with his stories, with his quiet strength.

Hawke's been in love with him all this time, and Fenris left him.

He puts his head in his hands and stares down at the papers on his desk without really looking. They're a blur of black on blue paper. 

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep shaky breath and forces himself to turn his attention back to his computer screen. 

===

Hawke doesn't talk to anyone about Fenris until Wednesday, a week after it happened.

Mostly, he stayed at home, watching movies and drinking too much wine. Not the best way to deal with it, he knows, but he doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to think about it. 

On Wednesday, he has a meeting with Aveline, and she's meeting him at his office beforehand. 

The instant she steps inside, he can see from her expression that she knows something's wrong. 

_Am I really that much of a mess?_ Hawke thinks, but he doesn't doubt that he is. 

Aveline quietly closes the door behind herself, and looks at him. 

“What's wrong?” She asks softly, staying near the door, giving him space.

He stands, walks over to his window and looks out. His office has a good view, looking out over the Thames, and for a moment he gazes out, looking at the passers-by. 

For the past week, he's avoided thinking about it. 

Or – that's not really true. He's _wanted_ to avoid thinking about it, but he couldn't help it. His mind kept going back to _why_ , to wondering if he hurt Fenris, if he did something wrong. And he must have done something wrong, because everything was going so well, everything was fine, everything was wonderful. Even though he knows that Fenris's past has made him wary, he's sure he must still have done something to upset him.

"Fenris left me," he says, quiet, the words breaking without him meaning them to.

"Oh, Hawke," Aveline says, and moves closer to him. She puts a hand on his back, a warm presence on his shoulder. It's a nice bit of comfort, and about all he can manage without falling apart completely. He doesn't want to even think about the reaction Meredith (ugh) would have if he went into a meeting with her red-eyed and teary. She'd probably devour him. Literally. 

The ridiculous image makes him smile a little, brings him back from the edge of tears.

“I don't know what went wrong,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Everything was fine. Everything was amazing. He stayed over, but in the morning he just-” Hawke swallows, tears not as far away as he'd thought. “He left me.”

“I'm so sorry, Hawke. I know how much you liked him.”

Hawke nods, and they stay there for a few minutes, looking out at the river, Aveline offering him silent comfort. 

“Do you want to skip the meeting?” She asks. “I can come up with an excuse.”

“Best not. I'm just trying to get on with things. Keep busy.”

She nods, and squeezes his shoulders. “I'm not the best with things like this, but if you want to talk about it, you know I'm happy to listen.”

“Thanks, Aveline,” Hawke says, touched by the offer. Most people – people who don't know her – think of Aveline as cold and hard, detached from her emotions. Uncaring. But that's not true at all. Aveline is warm and as loving as anyone Hawke has ever met, fiercely protective of her friends. He's glad that she's the first person he told about Fenris; her brand of comfort is exactly what he needs. “I'll keep that in mind.”

"Do you want me to tell the others?"

Hawke pauses. It would be cowardly, he knows, to let Aveline do it instead of telling his friends himself. But it _hurts_ to talk about it – and it's kind of embarrassing, too. They all helped him get together with Fenris – it was a real team effort. And now he's screwed everything up, not even knowing what he's done. After a moment he nods, gratefully. "I'd appreciate it."

“Not a problem. But come on, let's go. Meredith's sneering will help take your mind off it,” Aveline says, giving his shoulder one last squeeze before dropping her hand. 

“That's Meredith, alright. Always happy to help.”

Aveline snorts. “Oh, yes. A real helper, that one.”

Hawke goes home after the meeting. It's a little early, but he can't face the rest of the day. Since the mayor is out of the office, he just leaves, asking Saemus to take any messages.

The journey home is spent staring mindlessly out of the window in a daze, and he manages not to think of Fenris at all until he's in his hallway.

But when he is, he freezes as he's putting the key in the lock, struck by the memory of Fenris kissing him here. Of how much Fenris seemed to want him, of the warmth of the kiss, the affection in it.

Or not, since Fenris left him. Maybe Hawke just imagined the whole thing. Maybe he's an idiot for thinking that Fenris ever liked him.

The sound of a key turning in the door behind him makes Hawke jump, and he wipes at his eyes before turning to greet Anders.

Anders looks exhausted, stubble on his cheeks and shadows under his eyes. He frowns at Hawke, and with a sinking heart Hawke thinks he wasn't as successful as hiding his almost-crying as he'd hoped.

"What's wrong?" Anders asks, concern flooding his voice.

Hawke shuffles uncomfortably. How many times in one day does he need to talk about this? "I guess Aveline didn't text you."

"She doesn't have my number. Why?"

Hawke licks his lips, wonders if he can just lie, or decline to answer, or maybe just run into his flat and not come out for a couple of days. Or weeks. Months, maybe.

_Just say it._

Looking down at his shoes, he mumbles, "Fenris left me."

"Shit," Anders breathes, and pulls Hawke into a tight hug. "That dick. That total dick. I knew there was a reason I didn't like him."

Hawke sinks into the hug, his throat feeling thick and tight and he wraps his arms around Anders. He wants to cry - maybe crying will help. But he doesn't. He shouldn't, not with Anders. They're friends, but they were boyfriends first, and that would make it weird, right?

He means to step back but doesn't quite make it. The circle of Anders's arms is too warm, too comforting and he doesn't want to leave it just yet. So instead he lifts his head and gives Anders a smile that he hopes isn't too pathetic.

"Thanks, Anders. I uh. I should go."

"Come upstairs. I'll make dinner. You'll feel better than just sitting in your flat moping."

"I don't think-"

"Come on, Hawke," Anders says, rubbing his hand on Hawke's back. "The best treatment for a broken heart is kitty cuddles."

Hawke bursts out laughing at that, though it comes out half a sob. "Kitty cuddles?"

"Kitty cuddles," Anders repeats. Hawke shakes his head and holds Anders close for a moment, breathing in his scent.

"Yeah. Yeah, alright."

They go upstairs. Anders's flat is the same layout as Hawke's - living room with a kitchen just to the side, bedroom and bathroom towards the back. The furniture isn't as nice as Hawke's, most of it being hand-me-downs or otherwise second hand. Anders makes more money than Hawke does, but he gives a lot to charity, money and time both. Besides, the slightly run-down, lived-in look suits Anders, who's slightly run down most of the time himself.

As soon as Hawke has taken his coat off and is sitting on Anders's beat-up, cat-scratched old sofa, Ser Pounce-a-Lot is on his lap, shedding orange fur on his black trousers. He looks up at him as though he's worried about him too.

"At least you won't ask any questions," Hawke says, stroking a hand down Pounce's back and making him purr. That makes Hawke smile and think that Anders might be right. As much as Hawke is most definitely a dog person, kitty cuddles _are_ pretty great.

"Wine?" Anders asks from the kitchen, and Hawke answers in the affirmative. When Anders comes back into the living room he sits by Hawke's side and hands him a glass of white. Hawke wonders what kind of cat was on the label.

"So what's for dinner?"

"Frozen pizza. I'm nowhere near the cook you are."

"Anders, you're nowhere near the cook _Pounce_ is." It's true, sadly. Amongst Anders's many skills, cooking is not one of them.

"You wound me, Hawke," he saying, flicking on the TV and resting his head on Hawke's shoulder. Pounce moves so that his back half is on Hawke's lap and his front half on Anders's, purring loudly, happy to have double the attention he normally gets.

They sit, the three of them, watching TV. Pounce purrs with both Hawke and Anders stroking him. Though the humans don't really talk, it's a comfortable silence, and just having Anders by his side makes Hawke feel better. For the first time in days Fenris isn't on his mind at all.

It doesn't last long.

After pizza and another glass of wine, words start to stir within Hawke, words and hurt. He still doesn't think Anders is the right person to talk to this about, but he has to talk to someone.

He looks at Anders, who looks back at him, and puts a hand on his knee. “Let me help, Hawke. Tell me how I can help.”

"He left me," Hawke says, curling in on himself, as though a defensive position might be able to protect him from the hurt. "We had sex - _amazing_ sex - and he left me. He even said he thought it was incredible, and we talked afterwards and everything was great but when I woke up - he left me." As he speaks the hurt starts to boil inside him, threatening to bubble over. He puts his hands over his face, trying to control himself but it might be too late. "I know - he's had some shitty things happen to him in the past, and maybe that's why-"

"No," Anders says firmly. "Just because he had some bad stuff happen to him doesn't give him the right to break your heart."

"I feel so stupid for liking him so much when I barely know him," Hawke mumbles, curling his hands into fists and feeling genuinely angry at himself, a spot of clarity in the whirling mass of heartache.

"Come on," Anders says, putting an arm around his shoulders. "You're Garrett Hawke, the biggest hearted man I've ever met. You have a ridiculous amount of love in you. I always took it as a personal affront that you never fell in love with me."

"It was a close thing," Hawke says quietly and he knows Anders is looking at him, but whatever expression is on his face, Hawke doesn't want to know. He can't handle it right now. So when Anders pulls him into a tight hug it takes him by surprise, but he quickly leans into it.

He's grateful that Anders doesn't speak, just holds him, offering silent comfort.

And then Hawke does cry. 

Quietly, and only for a few minutes, but Anders holds him, stroking his back. Pounce is warm all against his side, and when Hawke pulls back, wiping at his eyes, he feels better. Lighter, at least, some of the sad heaviness of the last week lifted.

Accepting a tissue from Anders, he blows his nose and realises that he's exhausted. Emotions are bloody tiring. Besides, 10pm is a reasonable bedtime. Earlier than he usually goes to bed, but he's not been sleeping very well.

He settles down by Anders's side for a last bit of warmth and comfort while watching one more episode, then mumbles that he should go.

As he stands in the doorway he gives Anders a smile. "Thanks, Anders. Seriously."

"Any time, Hawke. You know that."

"For the record - the kitty cuddles did help, but not as much as the Anders ones did."

Anders smiles again and leans in to kiss Hawke's forehead. "Like I said - any time."

Hawke opens his mouth to say something else, but he's not sure what. Instead he just smiles again, and then goes back down to his flat, feeling better than he has in days.

When he goes to bed that night he doesn't even lie there for hours wondering what he did wrong.

It gives him hope that the hurt won't last forever.

===

After the kitty cuddles, Hawke feels somewhat better, but standing in line at Starbucks hurts his heart, and he thinks _why, Fenris?_ , as though the answer is out there somewhere and he just needs to puzzle it out. But he's fairly sure that he'll never know.

On Thursday he gets a text from Merrill:

_I'm sorry abt you and Fenris, he told me he left but wouldn't tell me anything else. I hope your alright xxx_

He worries his lower lip, reading the text over again, wondering if he can ask Merrill to find out what went wrong. If he just knew-

No, he decides. That's verging on stalker territory. Whatever happened, he's more or less come to the conclusion that it's something to do with Fenris's past - please god don't let it be anything Hawke's done - and as much as he hurts, he knows he has to give Fenris some space.

And if later, Fenris wants to talk to him-

The thought brings forth a tsunami of of anger, of fear, but most of all, hope, and Hawke has to push it aside with difficulty. It's too soon to think about that. Maybe one day he'll be able to give this thing with Fenris another chance – hope rises up inside of him at the thought – but right now he's too raw. 

By the time Friday comes along he's still emotionally exhausted and declines the Hanged Man, or tries to.

He's lying on his sofa playing Street Fighter, a beer on the coffee table, when there's a knock at his door - his flat door, not the front door. Expecting Anders, Hawke opens it to find Varric. It takes a second for his brain to catch up.

"Did Anders let you in?" Hawke asks, looking suspiciously at the front door behind Varric.

"No. I have my ways."

"Did you just break into my flat?"

Varric's grin answers for him. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to. Now get your coat."

Running a hand through his hair, Hawke shakes his head. "I'm really not in the mood. I assume you got Aveline's text?"

"I did. And I'm sorry, Hawke. That's rough. I know how much you liked Fenris." He pauses. "Do you want me to tell him that he can go shove his novel?"

Hawke shakes his head. He's not enough of a dick to sabotage Fenris's writing career. Though since they're not – anything – any more, he supposes he doesn't need to respect his privacy so much, and asks, "Is it any good?"

“It's really good,” Varric says, nodding. “Not my oeuvre really,  fantasy, but he's talented. I'd still more than happily kick him to the kerb if it'll make you feel better."

Hawke feels a strange lingering pride, knowing Fenris's book is good. A pride he has no right to feel, and the thought hurts his heart all over again. "It really wouldn't. But thanks for the offer."

"Alright. But still - get your coat. You need a drink."

"I have a drink."

"Then you need to not drink alone. It'll just make you feel sorry for yourself."

"That was my plan for the weekend, actually. Feeling sorry for myself. A whole, uninterrupted two days of it," Hawke says, folding his arms, but he can feel his resolve slipping. It might be nice to spend time with other people. Being with Anders helped.

"Well, you can have those two days,” Varric says. “But for tonight, you're coming out with your friends."

Hawke looks down at him and then sighs. Varric isn't the type to give up. And if he _does_ give up, Isabela will be next, and she'll be even worse.

"Fine. One drink."

"There we go," Varric says, and pats his arm.

Hawke gets his coat but doesn't bother changing out of his ripped jeans and t-shirt. He regrets it when he steps outside and his knees instantly start to freeze, but he refuses to show weakness.

When they get to the Hanged Man, Aveline and Isabela are already there. Just the four of them, it seems. A quiet one. Hawke's grateful.

Varric gets him a beer, and Isabela sits close to Hawke, linking her arm with his.

"I'm sorry, kitten," she says, kissing his cheek. Hawke looks at her, sees the genuine regret in her eyes, and his throat gets tight. He takes a gulp of beer and shrugs.

"Better that it happened early on," he says, and supposes that it's true. Better now than later, after he'd fallen even harder for him.

None of them are convinced that Hawke is in any way alright, he's sure of that, but no-one says anything about it.

Instead they talk, as though everything's normal, as though Fenris hasn't ripped Hawke's heart out of his chest.

Isabela keeps her arm linked with his arm though, and that helps, a lot. Hawke's always found physical comfort helps. And he's glad Varric badgered him into coming out, too.

It might hurt still, but it hurts less with his friends. Just their presence is enough to remind him that he has other people who love him. That he'll be okay.

And maybe one day, he'll talk to Fenris and find out what happened, what he did. Maybe one day they can be friends, too. Maybe they can be more. 

But for right now, Hawke has his beer, he has his friends, and he'll be okay. 

Maybe not just yet, but he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for your kudos, and your lovely words. I wasn't expecting that! After all, we know what happens in the game, but apparently I did a good job of hiding the fact that I was going the same route :D 
> 
> I didn't say anything at the end of the last chapter as I wanted the chapter to stand by itself, but I STILL don't have internet access at home, so once more this chapter is brought to you from McDonalds :l This week, hopefully, but we'll see. 
> 
> And [this is what Fenris's silk cuff looks like (but in red).](https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/234299969/you-got-this-wrap-bracelet-silk-wrap?ref=shop_home_active_2) Isn't it pretty?


	19. Chapter 19

Isabela is standing against the wall, looking out on the Thames when Hawke steps out of work.

She's wearing a short skirt despite the cold February weather, but the long boots and thick coat probably help keep her warm. It's a very Isabela outfit. The wind dances over the river and plays with her hair and she's smiling, her eyes closed. She looks beautiful. Relaxed, _free_ , almost, in a way Hawke can't describe, in a way he envies.

Hawke doesn't feel free _or_ relaxed lately. 

First there was the thing with Fenris – an ache in his heart answers that thought, even though it's been four weeks, but it's getting better, he thinks. It's getting easier. Since he's spending incredibly long hours at work, he doesn't have much energy for anything else, not even feeling sorry for himself. 

Leaving work at six today was a minor miracle, and he only managed it because the mayor and deputy mayor are out at a meeting. Tomorrow is going to be another long one, though, and he'll be lucky if he gets home before 10pm-

_What was that about not feeling sorry for myself?_

As he weaves his way through the crowds, Isabela opens her eyes and spies him immediately. She smiles and walks over.

"Ready for dragons?" she asks, linking their arms together, and Hawke nods.

"I'm always ready for dragons," he says, very seriously.

"Then let's go."

They're heading to the dragon exhibit at Bethany's university. He's pretty sure that he'll love it. Whatever else is going on in Hawke's life, dragons are always amazing. And he's not seen Bethany in a month since she's been working in Geneva, so seeing her again will be wonderful, too. _Definitely_ no reason to feel sorry for himself.

When they arrive, it's just him and Isabela as they walk through the gallery, since Bethany is stuck in a faculty meeting. The room is huge and white, the better to show off the exhibits. Other than one teenager in a dragon t-shirt that Hawke's sure he had when he was a gangly teenager himself, they're alone, and their footsteps echo as they wind their way around the displays. 

Isabela jokes about wondering where the sexy lady dragons are, and probably regrets it when Hawke gives her a long explanation about how in some cultures, all dragons are female, the males being the much smaller drakes-

"God, Hawke, I forgot what a geek you are," she says, shaking her head, her gold earrings and labret glinting in the light, but her eyes sparkle with amusement.

"You want to take my mind off things, don't you?" He says and Isabela gives him a long suffering look.

"Fine," she says, waving a hand. "I'll endure, for you. Go on. Tell me more."

She might be hoping he'll relent, but he's enjoying this. He genuinely loves the lore surrounding dragons, and this is a good exhibit, with displays from Europe, Asia and beyond. There are tapestries, paintings, sculpture, vases, more modern examples, too, like dragons in film and video games, how they take existing legends about dragons and build upon it, expand on it – or ignore it completely. 

By the time Bethany arrives, Isabela seems genuinely interested, asking questions - although mostly the questions are about dragon slayers, which she claims is a sexy career option.

"Especially because you get to steal the dragon's booty afterwards," she adds, curling a lock of hair around her finger as she looks at a painting of Smaug the Terrible atop his stolen gold.

"It's called a hoard," Hawke says. "A dragon hoard. It's pirates that have booty."

"Then you can call me a pirate," Isabela says with a wink and a shake of her hips, and Hawke rolls his eyes at her, smiling.

Bethany hears that as she enters the gallery and laughs, shaking her head and looking at Isabela fondly.

Hawke feels the usual surge of protectiveness, but it's getting easier to deal with each time he sees them together. Especially because Isabela looks at Bethany with just as much fondness. It's been – what, three months now? This is as serious a relationship as Hawke's ever seen Isabela in. Most importantly, they seem happy, both of them. 

As she walks over, Bethany looks at Hawke and her smile drops away. She steps forward to hug him tightly, tucking her head under his chin. The ache in Hawke's chest grows until he can't even pretend to ignore it any more, and he buries his face in Bethany's hair, smelling apples.

"I'm so sorry, Garrett," she says, her voice muffled.

Hawke takes in a breath that makes his chest feel right.

It's fine.

He's fine. It's been a month and he's fine.

It's just that sometimes it still hurts. Because he was in love with somebody that didn't love him back. But he's _fine._

He pulls back, as if to prove it, and gives Bethany a grin.

"I see that you're using Gamlen's thoughtful Christmas present. Me too." That being matching shampoo and conditioner gift sets, complete with the £2.99 price sticker still on the box.

She smiles and then hugs him again. "Good old Uncle Gamlen," she says with a kiss to his cheek. "I really am sorry I haven't been able to see you since - since it happened."

"You've been in Switzerland, consorting with other world-leading physicists," Hawke says. "I think I can forgive you. Being an amazing scientist and kicking the ass of subatomic particles is much more important."

"More important than my big brother?" She takes his hand, squeezes it. "I'm not so sure."

"Well, we're all here now," Isabela says, coming over to take Bethany's other hand. "So it's alcohol time. If you're done with the dinosaurs, Hawke."

_"Dragons,"_ Hawke says, aghast. Not that dinosaurs aren't cool too, but they're _different._

"I joke, kitten, I joke." 

Keeping hold of Bethany's hand, Isabela leads the way, saying she knows somewhere. This isn't really a surprise. Wherever they are in London, and beyond, Isabela always knows somewhere. 

This particular _somewhere_ takes a tube journey to get to. It's in Covent Garden, it's underground and slightly divey with lots of exposed brickwork and bartenders doing some Tom Cruise-style drink making behind the bar, throwing cocktail shakers into the air and setting drinks on fire. It's loud and busy, but Isabela manages to find a table near the back where it's quiet enough to talk.

“It's happy hour until midnight,” she says, handing a cocktail menu to Bethany and Hawke. 

“Midnight?” Hawke says, looking up at her. “I'm working tomorrow, Isabela. Probably a twelve hour day-”

“But that's tomorrow, Hawke,” she says. “This is _tonight,_ and cocktails are six pounds. You said before that you wanted me to help you take your mind off things; I can assure you, happy hour cocktails are a surefire way of taking your mind off _everything.”_

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Hawke says, but he obediently looks at the cocktail menu in his hands. It's not a huge menu, but there's more than enough choice. Long Island Iced Tea, Mojito, Zombie, Screaming Orgasm-

Hawke's heart suddenly drops into his stomach. 

He remembers Fenris laughing as Bethany passed him his drink after they went ice skating, saying _who doesn't like screaming orgasms?_ Remembers Fenris's green eyes looking into his in the low lights of Varric's flat, a smile tugging at his lips as he says in that deep, deep voice of his, that he would like Hawke to give him a screaming orgasm. 

And Hawke did, didn't he? Not screaming, but good.

Or maybe not, since _he left-_

And then the cocktail menu is snatched out of his hand, and when he looks up Isabela is putting it on the next table, out of his reach. 

“How about I choose something for you, Hawke?” She says lightly, though from the pity in her eyes, Hawke's pretty sure she noticed what he was looking at. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says tightly, and she pats his shoulder as she walks past on her way to the bar. “No gin!” He calls to her retreating back.

He turns back around and sees that there's pity in Bethany's eyes too. 

So,” Hawke says before she can say anything, because he absolutely does not want to feed the gnawing ache in his chest by talking about this. “How was Switzerland?”

Bethany pauses before answering, but then starts to tell him about CERN. He doesn't understand most of it, but that's fine. It means he has to concentrate, and concentrating on what she's saying means less attention to spare for his aching heart. 

He ends up having far too many drinks for a school night because Isabela is a bad influence. But the more cocktails he has, the more the ache starts to become less about hurt and more about longing, because he still wants Fenris kind of desperately.

He thinks about Fenris's kisses, about their bodies pressed close. He thinks about the coconut scent of his hair, about his guarded smiles and shy glances. He wants to kiss him again, to hold him, to just _be_ with him.

But he can't.

And... he's okay with that.

Okay with never touching him again, never kissing him again, never even seeing him again. 

Totally okay with that, honest, guv.

He even has a Screaming Orgasm, just to prove that he can, and if he thinks to himself that it would taste better on Fenris's tongue, that's something no-one else needs to know.

===

"Yes, but as I've said once before-"

Bran is scowling, but then he usually is. He hasn't said this once before. He's said this – just as crossly, just as impatiently – at least ten times before, but here comes number eleven.

As Bran repeats himself, Hawke stares out at what little he can see through the mostly-closed blinds on the other side of the room, hoping for a bit of daylight to counteract the headache the overhead fluorescents are giving him. But what little daylight there was is fading now, the sky turning to a moody dark grey; not surprising since it's past 4pm and it's still February.

Too late, Hawke wishes he'd gone out at lunchtime for a bit of fresh air. Instead he ate a sandwich while quickly checking his email, before coming back here to the board room where the others were waiting, all of them bored but unwilling to relent.

"-and really, we're not going to settle this any time soon," the mayor says with a heavy sigh as Hawke zones back in, then taps his fingers on the table. "Hawke, why don't you ask Saemus to bring us some coffee? Perhaps something to eat, too. We might be here a while."

Trying not to groan at the prospect of yet another late night, Hawke nods, scrawling down everyone's orders and picking up the phone to relay them.

"Now, where were we?" Mayor Dumar asks. Hawke doesn't have a clue, since he's not been listening. Right back where they started, probably. They're circling the same piece of legislation they've been talking about for days, with no progress whatsoever.

They continue not making any progress for the next twenty minutes, until there's a knock at the door and a muffled _coffee's here!_ from the other side of it.

Hawke gets up to let Saemus in. He's overloaded with paper bags balanced on his forearms, a cupholder in each hand. Hawke grabs one of the precariously balanced bags before it falls to the floor.

Which is when he notices the logo.

Deep Roads.

Saemus went to Deep Roads.

Feeling winded, Hawke trails over to the table behind Saemus. He's wearing a shirt that matches his eye colour almost exactly, Hawke notices dimly as he sits down, staring at the bag, at the cardboard cups.

He's not been to Deep Roads since the - the thing with Fenris. Starbucks doesn't really cut it, caffeine-wise or taste-wise, but it's better than facing him. Which is cowardly, he knows, but it's also probably best for both of them.

At least, that's what he's been telling himself.

As Saemus hand him his coffee cup, Hawke notices with more than a little relief that it's Merrill's writing that graces the cardboard sleeve – _Hawk <3 <3 <3_. 

But when he tastes it, it is Fenris's latte. He _knows_ it is.

As much as the _favourite barista_ thing was flirting, it was true, too. Fenris really does make an incredible latte, noticeably different to anyone else's. The milk is lighter, with a little less syrup so that the taste of the coffee comes through more. It's well balanced and utterly delicious. He does the best foam art, too, but it's been destroyed on the journey. Hawke wonders what it was.

He wonders if Fenris knew this was for him, and if he did, what he thought as he made it. Was he angry? Sad? Hopeful? Any of the hundred emotions that ping through Hawke whenever he thinks of Fenris?

Or was he just uncaring, Hawke no different to any other customer?

No. Hawke doesn't believe that. Whatever Fenris feels about him, he did feel _something_.

Taking another sip of the latte makes his heart hurt a little. It tastes good, really good.

_Made with love,_ the stray thought comes into his head, and he nearly laughs out loud at the ridiculousness of it.

He turns the laugh into a cough instead, and the mayor gives him a look.

"Perhaps we should get on with our discussion?" Bran says, sounding annoyed, but that doesn't mean anything - he always sounds annoyed.

"Yes, let's," Hawke says. At least it's better than circular thoughts about whether he ever meant anything to Fenris.

===

When he finally gets home it's almost midnight. He gets his phone out, looks at the picture Fenris took of them at the cinema.

He almost deleted it. He thought about it, several times. Seeing it whenever he went into his photos hurt. But he didn't, and he's glad he didn't, because looking at it now makes him sure that Fenris did care about him. Maybe not in the same way and maybe not as much, but he did care.

Hawke strokes his thumb over Fenris's face on the screen, feeling silly but not caring too much.

Maybe it's time to contact him. It's been a over month, after all. Five weeks and three days, in fact.

If nothing else, maybe he could get closure - just knowing why Fenris left, being sure he didn't hurt him; that would be something.

He gets as far as opening the message app, but he starts to scroll through their messages to each other, and that was a mistake; it makes his heart swell in his chest, huge and aching, and he has to put his phone down.

This is a bad idea.

Instead he gets ready for bed. He's exhausted, and he's expecting another thirteen hour day at work tomorrow. Might as well get some sleep instead of mooning over someone who left him.

But when he rolls onto his side, hugging his body pillow, his thoughts are full of Fenris, of his scent, the softness of his skin, his hair. Of the weight of his cock on Hawke's tongue, of how _good_ it felt to be inside him-

_Stop,_ Hawke thinks, a little distraught as his body reacts to the memories. _Seriously._

He holds the pillow a little tighter so that he doesn't start jerking off, or at least that's the idea. 

But then he grabs his phone and, unable to stop himself, scrolls to the sexts from Fenris. 

“This is a bad idea,” Hawke says, aloud, but he's hard and he's horny and bad idea or not, apparently this is happening. “Fuck,” he whispers as he reaches a hand into his pyjama pants and starts to stroke himself, reading and rereading the messages, thinking once more about Fenris lying there and wanking while texting Hawke, his hair fanned out behind him on the cushion like in the photo he sent from Berlin, the way he'd look – and Hawke knows what he looks like now, knows what he looks like when he comes, he looks fucking _gorgeous,_ and the way he moans-

Hawke gasps as he comes, bites his lip against anything more, and then collapses back onto his mattress breathing hard. 

“Fuck,” he says again, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. 

He feels – unsatisfied. Lonely. 

It _was_ a bad idea.

After cleaning himself up, Hawke gets back into bed and closes his eyes, feeling sleep creep up on him.

The thing with Fenris – he does need closure, he realises. He needs to go into Deep Roads and see him. 

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE THE INTERNET! YAYYYYYYY! Although I've mostly been too busy catching up with work stuff to have any time for fun things, but soon. _Soon_.
> 
> Oh, and Fenris will be back in this story eventually, I swear xD


	20. Chapter 20

It's hideously crowded on the train. People are crammed in on all sides, it's inexplicably hot for February, and Hawke is wearing a suit and a greatcoat just to make things worse. He's had two hours sleep, his head is spinning and his vision's going grey.

In short: he's having a bad day.

 _I am not going to faint,_ he tells himself. _I am not going to faint on the DLR on a Friday morning surrounded by tourists who'll Instagram my unconscious body._

He stares fixedly out of the window; it helps, a little, the glimpse of blue sky a distraction from the crush of humanity around him. His vision clears a bit - his heart is still racing and his breath too fast, but he's no longer in imminent danger of passing out.

As the train pulls into the next stop he considers getting off and getting some fresh air, but decides against it. There's only one more stop. He can do this. He concentrates on the patch of sky through the window as more people cram on and not enough get off.

One more stop, he tells himself again. 

The trains lurches slightly as it sets off, and the person behind Hawke knocks into him, pushing him into the guy in front. Annoyance overcomes his fear of fainting and he glares over his shoulder before looking at the guy he accidentally knocked into, saying, "Sorry about that-"

And sees white hair. And a long, brown neck with white ink tattoos.

_Oh my god._

Fenris - and it is Fenris - is turning at the sound of his voice, his green eyes wide. They stare at each other.

"Hawke," Fenris manages. "It's-” He pauses, licks his lips. “You've not been coming into the shop."

Hawke stares at him. 

It's been six weeks. 

It's been six weeks, it should be easier than this. He'd been planning on going into Deep Roads to talk to Fenris, even if he has been putting it off for days, so he should be more more prepared. But here is he, staring at Fenris - _fuck but he's beautiful_ \- with a broken heart and white hot lust vying for his attention. 

He clears his throat and shrugs. "I - thought you might not want to see me."

Fenris frowns, then shakes his head. "It's not - it's not that, Hawke. It's just - complicated."

"You left-" Hawke cuts himself off, hearing the hurt in his voice.

"You want to talk about this here? In front of all these people?" Fenris asks quietly, frowning at something to Hawke's right.

"Not my first choice, no."

"Nor mine. I'm sorry. But - you don't have to avoid Deep Roads, Hawke. I mean - I understand if you want to. But you don't have to. I don't- I mean, if you want to..."

"I suppose I could do with a good coffee," Hawke says slowly. He can do this. He can be a grown up about this. "Starbucks just doesn't cut it when you've had two hours sleep."

"So little?" Fenris looks up at him and is that worry in his eyes, or is Hawke hallucinating? 

"Work's been busy. Fourteen hour days."

"Then you definitely need a coffee," Fenris says, and thank god they've actually pulled into the station.

The train empties quickly and they head up to the surface side by side. Hawke can't quite believe it's happening; he's still not given up on the possibility of a hallucination.

"I've been pulling long shifts for a fortnight now," he says, rubbing his eyes. "I can't remember the last time I had more than four hours sleep." 

"That's not good," Fenris says, and has definitely concern in his voice this time. Hawke tries to figure out what exactly is going on in Fenris's head, and quickly gives up. He barely knows what's going on in his own head half the time, and especially not right now.

They step out into the fresh air, and the winter sunlight instantly makes Hawke's head throb.

 _I hate everything,_ he thinks, and steps forward to cross the road-

Someone grabs his arm and yanks him backwards.

A car whizzes past, its horn blaring and the driver swearing loudly.

Hawke loses his balance and crashes to the floor.

He blinks, his heart racing. _Jesus Christ, I nearly just got hit by a car._

The hand on his arm still death-grips him; he thinks it might leave a bruise. The hand has white ink tattoos - Fenris - and despite the near-death experience Hawke still manages to feel a touch of fuzzy warmth at the thought of Fenris touching him. Especially because under the cuff of Fenris's coat, Hawke sees a flash of red silk.

"You're wearing my cuff," he says, and Fenris states down at him. He's still holding Hawke's arm.

"You nearly just _died."_

Hawke considers this. "At least then to wouldn't have to work another fourteen hour shift."

Fenris stares down at him some more and gives a choked sound that's _maybe_ half a laugh, and sits down on the pavement beside him.

"You scared me," he says, sounding hollow, eyes wide. "Don't - please don't do that again."

Hawke nods, waiting for the adrenaline to die down. They sit in silence for a few moments, pedestrians parting around them like a tutting, glaring, river round a stone.

"Do - you want it back?" Fenris is touching the cuff; Hawke shakes his head.

"No. I had it made it for you." Another moment of silence, awkward, slightly prickly. "Besides - it looks good on you."

"Thank you," Fenris says, and Hawke finally looks up at him. He's looking down at his wrist, and his hair covers his eyes so that Hawke can barely see them.

"Actually - I should probably thank _you."_

Fenris looks up. "Oh?"

"You just saved my life."

"Oh. That."

"My hero," Hawke says, with a smile, and Fenris laughs, a quiet little breath of a laugh; but then his smile drops and he looks away. Hawke's stomach plummets, but then Fenris's gaze darts back to him again, and holds it. 

"You need to be more careful," he says, and gets to his feet. Hawke stays where he is, watching as Fenris wipes the pavement dust from his very fine arse, and then Fenris offers his hand. Hawke looks at it, and then takes it. It's a nice feeling, having Fenris's hand in his, though the world sways a bit when he's on his feet.

Fenris keeps hold of his hand as they cross the road, and Hawke thinks maybe he shouldn't do this, maybe he should make more of a deal of this, Fenris _left_ , but it feels so nice. It feels so right. "Let's get you some caffeine," Fenris says as they step into Deep Roads.

It's busy inside, and Tamlen is standing behind the counter, Merrill at the coffee machine.

"Sit," Fenris tells him, pointing at a table.

"I should be getting to work."

"A few moments won't kill you, Hawke," he says, and goes around the back of the counter. He says something to Merrill, whose eyes widen and search out Hawke, looking between him and Fenris then giving him an uncertain smile.

Hawke closes his eyes, wondering if it was really such a great idea to leave the house this morning. He doesn't wonder long - it was clearly _not_ a good idea. So tired that he feels drunk isn't a great position to be in.

Then again, he did talk to Fenris again, and despite all the odds, it's not going terribly – apart from the nearly getting run over thing – so it's not all bad.

"Here," Fenris's voice says, and there's a clunk. When Hawke opens his eyes, Fenris is right there, and Hawke has never wanted anyone more than he wants him. Not just sex but everything. He wants everything and he can't have it. The words almost tumble out of his tired-drunk mouth, but he looks down at the cup Fenris has put on the table instead.

"Your usual," Fenris says, softly. It's in a mug rather than a take-out cup. Fenris is being devious.

Hawke reaches for his wallet, but Fenris shakes his head. "It's on me."

"I can't let you save my life _and_ buy me coffee."

"What can I say? I feel like I owe you." He touches his cuff. Hawke notices a flash of silver - it's not just the cuff he's wearing, Hawke's crest is still on there too. Seeing that makes Hawke's heart hurt. 

Now's not the time though. Tired as he is, Hawke would be guaranteed to make a mess of it, even more than he usually would. Instead, he raises his mug. "Thank you, Fenris."

Hawke doesn't end up staying at work that long. Just before lunch Mayor Dumar takes one look at him and sends him home. Hawke's too tired to make a compelling argument against it and goes.

He sleeps all afternoon and when he wakes facedown on his bed, it's dark, and he's still in his shirt, though his tie and trousers appear to have been early casualties. He sits up and his head spins like he has a hangover. The glass of water on his nightstand is half empty so he downs it and then goes to the kitchen to fill it, and downs it again.

It makes him feel better. So did the sleep. He feels a bit foggy, but less like he's about to collapse, so that's a plus. He yawns, looking in the fridge and is completely uninspired. _Take away,_ he thinks, and grabs his bag to search for his phone.

He has three messages.

_**Fenris:**_ _13:38_  
_I hope you're feeling better_

_**Fenris:**_ _14:12_  
_Hawke, please let me know you're okay_

_**Merrill:**_ _14:35_  
_Hawke are you ignoring Fenris???? Let us know you are ok!!!!_

There's a missed call from Fenris as well and Hawke sighs, looks down at it. Should he call back? Or is a text enough? He - he wants to hear Fenris's voice. A lot. But he doesn't want it to be awkward, and god, it would be.

He orders pizza first, and then goes to change into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Throwing himself onto the sofa he looks down at the phone, at the missed call from Fenris.

Biting his lip, he decides to check his email first, and then Facebook. Before he knows what's happened the intercom rings - pizza, Hawke thinks, and his stomach growls, rejoicing. But when he answers, it is not pizza.

Fenris is standing on Hawke's doorstep, in his black beanie, scarf, coat – just like he was last time he was here. 

For a moment Hawke can only stare at him. It's so strange to see him here, after everything that happened, and his sleep-fogged brain can't quite grasp that this is happening. 

It _can_ grasp that Fenris looks gorgeous, utterly gorgeous, his hair slightly untidy, his eyebrows pinched together in a frown. His lips slightly parted, and Hawke is struck by memories of all the times he has kissed those lips. But balancing those memories is the _he left me_ ache that's mostly centred in his chest, but has wound its way through every part of him by now.

"Hawke," Fenris says, relief clear in his eyes. "Are you - I thought you might be ignoring me but you didn't reply to Merrill either and-"

Hawke rubs his eyes. "Yeah, sorry; I fell asleep. I got sent home."

"Are you alright?"

There's that worry again.

"I'm - I'll be okay. It's the weekend. Finally." Fenris is silent. Hawke wonders what he's thinking. "I ordered pizza. Do you - want to come up?"

More silence and then Fenris shakes his head, avoiding Hawke's gaze again. "I - I don't think I should."

Well. That's that, then. All the hope that had gathered in Hawke deflates and leaves him with a bitter taste on his tongue. This time it is him that looks away, and he gives a curt nod. 

"Alright," Hawke says. "Thanks again for saving me. And making me coffee."

"I-" Fenris pauses, then nods. "Any time, Hawke."

More silence. "Fenris-"

"I should go, Hawke. Have a good evening."

Hawke doesn't bother hiding his sigh. "Sure, Fenris. You too."

Barely five minutes later there's another ring, and his time it really is the pizza. Hawke grabs a beer from the fridge - it's been that sort of day - and turns on Netflix, but he's asleep within five minutes of finishing his food.

He wakes up a few hours later and wishes Fenris had come up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I can't believe that I forgot to mention that chapter 17 (you know, the one that broke your hearts) has had some AMAZING fanart,[ click here and take a look.](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/131974911915/ell-you-see-why-before-hawkes-even-properly)
> 
> AND!
> 
> [Qvoro did another piece](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/132883421176/fenhawke-fic-finding-home-19) in response to the last chapter - Hawke with a Starbucks cup, calling me out by name. _Ow,_ right!? 
> 
> Thank you so so SO much for this art - and thank you all so much for your comments and kudos, they seriously mean the world to me <3 <3 <3


	21. Chapter 21

Hawke is standing outside Deep Roads, looking in through the windows. 

Inside, he can see Fenris at the counter, taking orders, and Merrill putting out pastries. Merrill has a pretty floral headband on, and Fenris-

Fenris looks gorgeous. 

Obviously. 

Tired, but gorgeous. 

It's freezing out here, but when Hawke steps inside, he and Fenris are going to have to talk, so he's waiting. Just for a moment, then he'll go in. 

He kind of doesn't want to. 

It's a good idea, in the general scheme of things, for them to talk. He knows that. It's something they need to do; Hawke needs to know where Fenris wants to go from here, but he's terrified of starting the conversation. He's even more terrified of what Fenris might say. He's had a hundred ideas over the weekend what it meant that Fenris didn't come into his flat on Friday, and his mind has come up with everything from Fenris having prior plans, to him hating Hawke and wanting nothing more to do with him. He thinks it's probably somewhere in the middle, but he'd like to know for sure. 

Shifting position from one foot to the other, he wishes that he could just outsource this whole conversation. Not that anyone else can talk to Fenris on his behalf, but he's not feeling confident in his ability to discuss this like a mature adult and make his meaning clear, as opposed to flailing around in conversation like normal. 

But. 

It has to be done. And since he has to be at work in twenty minutes, it has to be now.

Setting his jaw like he's heading into battle rather than a coffee shop, Hawke pushes open the door. Fenris glances up, and freezes when he sees Hawke. He nods at him, very slightly, eyes wide, and then turns his attention back to making something frothy for the customer at the counter. 

“Hello, Hawke,” Merrill says when she sees him, offering a slightly nervous smile, glancing sideways at Fenris before back to Hawke. “Are you alright? We were so worried about you on Friday!”

“I'm alright, thanks. I was just so, so tired. But I had a lot of sleep over the weekend.” 

“Glad to hear it! Sleep is wonderful, isn't it?”

“It really is,” Hawke says, with feeling. There's nothing like a few weeks of living on less than four hours sleep a night to make you really appreciate the wonders of a lie in. 

And then the customer Fenris was serving walks past Hawke and out of the door, and Hawke can feel Fenris's eyes on him. 

“The usual?” Asks Fenris, his voice a little hesitant, and he gives an uncertain little smile. 

“Actually, ah,” Hawke says. “I think we need to talk.”

Fenris looks up at him, looking hunted, but then his shoulders dip and he nods. “Yes. I suppose we do.”

“You can go in the back room if you like,” Merrill says, hovering behind Fenris, possibly looking even more anxious than they do. “I can watch the counter for a few minutes.”

Hawke follows Fenris into the back room. 

It seems almost strange that things in here are just as they were last time, when so much has changed between them. There's the safe and the lockers and the ancient computer complete with CRT monitor, but it's sadly lacking in Fenris pushing him up against the wall and kissing him. 

Hawke clears his throat as though that might clear his mind as well and turns to Fenris, but it's Fenris who speaks first. 

“I'm so sorry, Hawke,” he says, staying where he is, a few feet away, gazing at a not particularly interesting bit of floor. “If I'd known that I would react like that – but I had no idea.” His hands dart through the air as he speaks. Hawke watches them, focusing on the red silk that's still around his wrist, a little mesmerised. “I would never – I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Hawke nods, and doesn't know what to say. He can't say that Fenris didn't hurt him, because he did. But he knows that it wasn't something that Fenris did on purpose. That night, after they slept together, but before Fenris left – that was _good_ , that was easy. That was _them_ , how they've always been up until now. But after that – something happened, and Hawke doesn't know what. 

“Why did you leave, Fenris?” 

Fenris looks up at him then, and his mouth moves but he doesn't say anything. 

“Did I hurt you?” Hawke asks. “Because if I did, I'm so sorry. I never want to hurt you.”

“No, Hawke,” Fenris says instantly, and steps forward, taking both of Hawke's hands in his. The touch surprises Hawke, but he doesn't step away. Fenris looks up at him and his eyes are fierce behind his hair. Fenris takes a breath that shakes, hitches, and drops his head. Close as they are, that means it's resting against Hawke's chest. “You didn't hurt me," Fenris says quietly. "At all. I meant what I said - it was incredible.”

"Did you mean the other things you said?" Hawke finds himself asking, his throat tight.

"All of it. How much I like you - and how much I _can't_. The memories-" his voice breaks and he hides his face a little closer against Hawke's chest.

Throwing away his restraint and his hurt, Hawke wraps his arms around Fenris and holds him close because the man needs a goddamn hug. Fenris goes stiff in Hawke's arms, and he's about to start apologising, but then Fenris lets out a sigh, and Hawke can feel him relaxing. Fenris's arms go around Hawke's waist, and rests his cheek against Hawke's chest. His hair smells of coconuts again, and Hawke wants to kiss the top of his head, but he manages to restrain himself. They're not there yet. He doesn't know where they are, but he's pretty sure they're not there. 

"I have baggage, Hawke,” Fenris says after a moment, his voice muffled. “I wanted you. I still want you. But I didn't expect to react like that. I don't know if I will again.”

“So-” Hawke doesn't want to say it, afraid of the answer. “Where does that leave us?”

Fenris's arms tighten around Hawke. “I don't know. I want to – want _you_ , so much. If you even wanted to, after I-" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I really am. But right now, I can't. As much as I like you – I don't want to feel like that again."

Hawke stays where he is; Fenris is still in his arms, with no apparent desire to move, and whatever else is happening here, that feels good. Right. And when he thinks _What do I want?_ The answer is clear; the answer is in his arms.

They might both need time, and they might not ever be able to have what they had. But maybe they can still have something. 

"We could try being friends,” he says, slowly. “Give us both time to decide if we want more. If we can deal with more.”

Fenris looks up at him then, caution in his eyes. "You'd be my friend? After what I did to you?"

"Yes," Hawke says simply. “I won't pretend you didn't hurt me, but I like you. I want you in my life, however I can have you. Even if that's in a friend way instead of a boyfriend way.” 

Fenris lifts his head then, looking into Hawke's eyes for a moment, then he nods. Quietly, he says, "Friends, then. For now." 

Well that's – something. Hawke finds that he feels lighter for the decision. At least he knows where they stand now.

“Why don't you come to the Hanged Man on Friday?” Hawke suggests, the idea tripping past his lips before his brain's even registered the thought, before he has time to think that it's maybe not such a good idea. “Bring Merrill, she's not come with us for far too long.”

Fenris frowns. “Your friends-”

“Will be happy to see you,” Hawke says, sounding more certain than he is. They're protective, his friends, and they've hated seeing how much Hawke has been hurting these past weeks; but he's pretty sure he can talk them around. 

“I'll think about it,” Fenris says, and then looks up at Hawke with a small smile. “Thank you, Hawke. For giving me another chance.”

“You're welcome,” Hawke says. _You're worth it,_ he thinks.

===

Hawke sent a text to his friends saying that Fenris might be coming to the Hanged Man, and asking them to be cool. He got disapproving silence from Aveline – which is to say she replied _Fine_ , but that's almost silence and definitely disapproving. Isabela texted him a long line of xoxo that went over eight lines, and then a second text saying _If you need to talk I'm here for you, kitten xxx_. Hawke had considered calling her – out of all his friends, she'd probably be the one least likely to try to talk him out of it. And Varric had just sent – rather cynically, Hawke thinks – _I guess this'll provide book fodder if nothing else_. 

Now it's Friday, and as Hawke walks into the Hanged Man he sees Varric already there, tapping away on his laptop. As soon as he notices Hawke, he raises an eyebrow and shuts his computer, and proceeding to ask Hawke what in the hell he's doing. 

"You invited him to the pub?" Varric asks, slightly incredulous. "After he walked out on you and broke your heart?"

"Yes," Hawke says easily, sipping his pint, but Varric instantly sees through his paper-thin veneer of nonchalance and snorts.

"Either you're more competent at this than I thought or you're making a bad decision."

"Why? We can be friends. It'll be fine." The words are undermined by the worry that Hawke can't quite wring from his voice. He _thinks_ they can be friends. They were friends before they started on the official dates, after all. 

"You sure about that? I saw you two together. You have the kind of chemistry that sets fire to buildings. I'm not sure that people like that can be just friends.” That hits a little too close to home, and Hawke winces. When Varric's right, he's right. 

“Let's just see how it goes,” he suggests. 

Varric sighs, and shakes his head, rubbing his eyes. “Look - I've got your back, alright? Whatever happens. I get the feeling you might need that."

"No faith in me," Hawke mutters, and Varric claps him on the shoulder. 

"I've got exactly as much faith as this plan warrants, which isn't much. That chemistry? It's not going to go away just because you want it to. It's certainly not going to make just being friends easy."

"He agreed to come out with me."

"Yeah." Varric rubs his eyes. "Yeah, I suppose he did. Your love life is complicated, Hawke."

"It's very uncomplicated, actually, in that I don't have one." Hawke tries not to feel too sorry for himself as he says that, and fails miserably. Seeing Fenris every morning to get his coffee has been difficult, to say the least. His first instinct is to flirt with Fenris, to go back to how things were, how they _should_ be, but he's had to bite down on that every day. He never realised before how natural that was. It's really driven home the fact that they might never have that again, and he's spent most of his post-Deep Roads mornings feeling miserable.

"Look, Hawke," Varric says. "I'm not the best person to talk to about this stuff. God knows my own love life isn't what most people would call ideal. But I gotta be honest: Fenris seems to come with a lot of baggage."

"He does. But that doesn't matter to me." 

Varric sits back, looking at Hawke before throwing his hands up in surrender. "Alright. Fine. So you're going down this _just friends_ route. But are you interested in getting back together with him?"

Hawke looks down at his pint, and traces a line through the condensation with a finger. "Yes," he says, very quietly.

"And if he doesn't want that - can you just be friends with him and stop thinking of him as potential boyfriend material?"

"I can try."

"Try harder. Give him some space. If he wants you, he'll let you know. Until then - just back off. Do friends-only things. That's my advice."

Hawke nods. It's good advice. He lets Varric move on to other subjects, but Fenris is still there, in the back of his mind. But he's sure that he can be friends with Fenris. He _wants_ to be. This whole thing started because Fenris is an awesome person. 

So when Fenris turns up with Merrill by his side – both of them looking adorable in knitwear – Hawke gives him a warm smile and tries not to think about how gorgeous he looks. 

“Daisy!” Varric says, standing and pulling her into a hug. “Look at you! It's been way too long.” He gives Fenris a look, tinged with the doubt he feels about how good an idea this is, but then smiles. “Good to see you too, Fenris.”

Fenris blinks at him, and then smiles back, nodding a greeting. Merrill sits opposite Hawke and starts to tell Varric about a dream she had about one of his books. 

"I'm going to the bar," Fenris says. "Can I get you something, Merrill?"

"Oh, no thank you, I want to look at the menu," she says, picking up the beer-stained cocktail menu full of drinks with dubious names.

"Hawke?" Fenris says, and the sound of his name on Fenris's tongue makes Hawke feel a little breathless.

"I'll come with you," he says, standing, and after checking that Varric doesn't need a refill, they go to the bar and stand side by side a little awkwardly. Hawke tries to think of a normal, friendly topic of conversation but all thoughts have fled from his mind, leaving only white noise in their wake. 

"Did you have a good day?" Fenris asks, and Hawke nods, then shakes his head, and then shrugs. Off to a good start, then.

"Uh, relatively? Working normal hours is enough to make the day decent these days. Hopefully things will ease off now, since we came to an agreement about the legislation. A Transport for London thing," Hawke starts, and cuts himself off. Even if they're going to be just friends, that doesn't mean he wants to bore Fenris out of his mind.

"Glad to hear it. You shouldn't have to work such long days. It's not good for you. You looked terrible on Friday."

“Ouch.”

“Relatively terrible,” Fenris says quickly. “Which is still – good. Really good. Ah.” Fenris is blushing now. It's very adorable. It's also helping to break the tension between them. “You looked good. But exhausted.”

“I've been called worse things," Hawke says, smothering a well-timed yawn.

As Fenris orders his Merlot and insists on getting Hawke's drink, Hawke is feeling cautiously optimistic. This is going okay. Awkward, but not incredibly so. Just on a general level of Hawke-awkwardness. Of course, Fenris hasn't even been here ten minutes yet, so there's time for things to go horribly wrong.

When they get back to the table, Aveline and Isabela have arrived. Aveline gives Fenris a cool nod in greeting, and Isabela gives him a warmer smile.

"Finally, Fenris!” She says. "I was starting to worry that you'd abandoned us for another dysfunctional friend group. Because I can tell you right now – there's no-one quite like us.”

“That I can believe.” Fenris takes the end of the bench, by Hawke's side, but he doesn't sit as closely as he used to, being careful to keep a space between them.

 _Just friends,_ Hawke reminds himself, and tries not to feel disappointed.

Fenris is quiet, as quiet as that first night he came to the Hanged Man. Hawke is worried that he's regretting coming, but he smiles at Isabela's jokes, answers when spoken to. As the evening goes on he seems to relax, and the distance between them seems to shrink, figuratively and literally. When Fenris returns from the bar with his third glass of wine, he sits right next to Hawke, their thighs touching, and he doesn't move away. By the time he and Hawke are heading to the station it's almost like old times, right down to being squashed close by the crowd of the last train of the night.

Hawke's trying to give him as much space as he can, but there's not much to give. Behind him there's a group of drunk lads yelling about the cheeky Nando's they've just had, and the whole carriage is glaring at them. Hawke can't spare them too much attention though, because Fenris is right here, and as always, it's hard to focus on anything else. Fenris is gazing out into the darkness of the tunnel, and through his bangs Hawke can just about see his tattoo, the three dots on his forehead. He wants to touch them again, so badly that he actually lifts his hand, but then shifts the movement to adjusting his own collar.

"We always seem to end our nights like this," Fenris says, looking up at Hawke.

"Yes. We do. How about that?"

"Perhaps it's fate," Fenris murmurs and then strands up a little straighter. His hair brushes Hawke's cheek and makes him think _oh god oh god_.

"I guess we won't be kissing this time though," Hawke says.

Fenris's eyes lift to meet his. For a moment Hawke thinks he's gone too far, but then a smile tugs at Fenris's lips. "Maybe not _this_ time."

Hawke looks down at him and blinks, cocking his head slightly. This is flirting, Fenris is flirting with him. Is it just the wine, or...? “Then – next time?”

“Sometime. Maybe.” Fenris shrugs. “I'm not trying to be a tease, Hawke, it's just - complicated."

"Yeah," Hawke says because clearly. But maybe there's hope, in the darkness of Fenris's eyes, in the way his gaze is fixated on Hawke's lips.

"I still like you. So much," he says in a whisper, his voice treacle-thick with need.

"I still like you too," Hawke says, and he wants to kiss him, wants to bury his face in his hair, wants to hug Fenris and never let him go. Especially with Fenris looking at him like that, his own longing echoed in those green eyes.

But then the train is pulling into Shadwell.

That damn station is such a cockblock.

Fenris lifts a hand to Hawke's cheek and he freezes, not daring to move in case he scares Fenris off. But the touch - Fenris's fingers are warm, and soft, and it feels _right,_ so right.

"Give me time, Hawke," he says, trailing his fingers over his beard, over his lips, and then dropping away. He steps through the doors which slide shut after him. Their eyes meet through the glass and Hawke's heart is jackhammering in his chest.

Fenris lifts his hand in farewell as the train pulls away and Hawke does the same, and they stare at each other until they're out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, this chapter was a bit of a disaster, hence the delay. First I thought I had most of it written from months ago, but when I reread it, it didn't fit the story any more, or Hawke for that matter (if you'd like to read it, you can, but be warned that it is very Handers-y and also that it's super draft-y - [the link is here if you'd like to read](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ek3xPGkq7BzKMiqJWl5MuLkC5Krpo_uOGfqGfg04WAU/edit?usp=sharing)). Then I was just having trouble writing because I've been dealing with some personal stuff and also some brain fog, because it's never just one thing. And _then_ my iPhone deleted a whole chunk of what I'd written. So yeah. Bit of a pain in the arse, this chapter. Hopefully it still reads okay!
> 
> Also there's been some photos and some tidbits on my [Finding Home tag on tumblr](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/tagged/finding%20home) that you might be interested in checking out :3 I will put up the photos of Greenwich and London soon. 
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for reading and commenting! Sorry I'm a bit behind with the replies, I'll work on that tomorrow as it's nearly 4am here and I should probably go to bed. But rest assured, I love each comment to bits - that personal stuff I mentioned I've been dealing with? It's been a lot easier to deal with when I can reread your lovely words <3


	22. Chapter 22

Hawke's standing in Isabela's living room, breathing a little heavily. 

Nothing untoward, mind. Hawke's just been doing some heavy lifting. 

He's just given Isabela a lift to IKEA, and Hawke's manly pride refused to allow him to let Bull help carry the purchases from the car. So Bull had smirked at him and stayed on the sofa, watching while Isabela had carried big blue bags full of candles and cushions, and the self-imposed heavy lifting was done by Hawke. Now there are two flat-packed, bloody heavy bookcases propped up against the wall. Hawke's grateful he's not being forced to help put it up, at least.

He's currently sitting by Bull's side on the sofa and experiencing a very rare thing for him: he feels small. He's not sure he likes it. Bull is tapping away at a laptop that looks like a toy in comparison to his size.

"You finally arranged something for your birthday?" Hawke asks Isabela, who's just sat down on his other side, her legs tucked under her body. 

"Something _amazing_. So amazing that I printed out invitations. Here you go," Isabela says, handing him an envelope from a pile on the coffee table, then holding up a second. "Will you give this one to Merrill? I assume you're back to your daily Deep Roads pilgrimage."

“Fenris is an amazing barista, and his coffee deserves worship.”

“His coffee, or his arse?” She giggles at his offended gasp. “What? Come on, Hawke. He does have a great arse.”

“Obviously," Hawke says, and opens the envelope with his name on it to distract him from thoughts of Fenris's lovely backside. Just friends, after all. Inside the envelope, there is a brightly coloured sheet of paper with clip art of pirate ships and wine bottles set jauntily around the borders. There's also text in Copperplate Gothic setting out Isabela's amazing plan. "A booze cruise?"

"Doesn't it sound amazing? Varric knows someone with a boat, and I have lots of booze. It's perfect!"

"It's-" Hawke isn't sure what it is. Their friends, on a boat, with lots of alcohol? He's not sure it's a good idea. "It's very you."

"Right?" She reaches over and taps the invitation in Hawke's hand, where it says his name in her looping handwriting, with _PLUS ONE_ next to it in all caps, underlined, with _you know exactly who I mean_ next to it. "You have to bring a plus one."

"What if I don't have a plus one?"

"But you do. Or you want to. Maybe you didn't see those puppy dog eyes he was giving you in the Hanged Man, but I did. He's still got it bad for you."

"I'll ask him,” Hawke says, putting the invitation back in the envelope. “I assume I can still come even if he's busy?"

"I'm bringing plus two," Bull says, looking up from his laptop. "You can borrow one if you like. I'm sure they'd be up for that."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hawke says, wondering not for the first time about Bull's interesting love life. While Hawke doesn't know him that well, some of the things Isabela's told him - well, Hawke's exhausted just listening to them.

"You have to promise me you'll ask him," Isabela says. She's looking at him seriously now, holding his hand. Hawke thinks that maybe she understands how he feels better than Varric or Aveline do. They only see how Fenris hurt him - Isabela sees how much Fenris still means to him. "I know things are a little awkward but ask him. He still likes you, and I know you still like him. I need something to fuel my fantasy life."

Or perhaps Hawke was completely off in his assessment of her motives.

"What about Bethany?" He asks, immediately wishing he hadn't.

"Oh, there's plenty of Bethany in my fantasies, Hawke, don't worry about that. But sometimes you need something a little different. For example: two men. Very hot. You and Fenris? Even hotter."

She's teasing. Right? Probably. Maybe. Hawke's not sure whether Bull's laughter makes it more or less likely that she's teasing. It certainly makes it more embarrassing.

"Really, Isabela?" Hawke says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll ask him, alright?"

"You better."

===

When Hawke goes into Deep Roads the next day, Merrill is delighted when she gives him the invitation.

"A cruise!" She exclaims. "That sounds so fun. I think I'll ask Tamlen if he'll be my plus one."

“Things are going well between you two, then?”

She smiles and blushes, hiding it behind the invitation. “Oh, well. We're taking it slowly. Having fun. You know? But I do like him quite a lot.”

"Glad to hear it,” Hawke says, hoping that they have more luck with the _taking it slowly_ thing than he and Fenris did. Fenris, who's pouring his drink, making some sort of pretty pattern in the foam. "I, ah. I was hoping you might be _my_ plus one, Fenris. If you're free. And you want to."

Fenris smiles, putting Hawke's drink down on the counter. Hawke tries, very hard, not to take any meaning from the fact that Fenris has made a heart in the foam of Hawke's three shot hazelnut latte. “When is it?”

“Next Saturday.”

Fenris thinks, then nods. "I'm free. It sounds like fun."

"Awesome!" Hawke says, fishing a fiver out of his wallet. As Fenris hands over the change, his fingers curl around Hawke's, and Hawke stares down at their hands. That's not an accidental brushing, that's – that's hand holding. 

He thinks back on the tube journey, on Fenris's suggestion that they might possibly kiss at some point in the near future. 

There's hope for them, he thinks, and squeezes Fenris's hand. 

“I'm looking forward to it,” Hawke says, and then on a sudden whim of either recklessness or courage, lifts their joined hands to plant a gentle kiss on Fenris's knuckles. Fenris blinks at him, a crooked little smile on his lips and a touch of pink in his cheeks. To the side, Hawke is vaguely aware of Merrill clapping her hands together silently. Hawke lets Fenris's hand go, dropping his change as he does, and it clatters loudly to the counter. 

Well. He was dashing for a few moments, at least.

In between replying to emails at work, he spends the rest of the morning wondering whether Fenris took that invitation to be as just friends or not. Then he remembers what Varric said about not thinking of Fenris as a potential boyfriend and tries to stop. But it's _hard,_ as evidenced by the hand kissing.

Whatever Fenris thought of the invitation, he's coming. That's the important thing.

===

They're meeting at the pier. In the water in the yacht that Varric's friend is loaning to them for the night. It's even more impressive than Hawke was expecting. He doesn't know much about boats and can't say much about it other than it's big and white, and looks like it was very expensive. 

The evening is dark and still pretty cold, though Hawke has downgraded from his greatcoat to a battered leather jacket he got when he was in uni. He thinks it makes him look a little badass. He's also wearing tight jeans - not the black ones, though not far off - and he thinks he looks good.

He's trying not to hope Fenris thinks the same.

Fenris, who hasn't arrived yet.

Everyone else is here. Bethany and Isabela are huddled against the cool March night; Tamlen is holding Merrill's hand and looking hopelessly besotted - a feeling Hawke knows well. Varric is talking to Aveline, and there are a few people Hawke doesn't know. Bull and his plus two are over near the railing. Hawke looks over curiously. Both are guys, one with long auburn hair and a sidecut; the other with black hair and an undercut - add to that his pirate-like moustache and both of them are really rocking the hipster look. They're both gorgeous, and Hawke can't help but wonder what manner of plus two they are. From the way Undercut has his arm around Sidecut's waist, they're together at least, but are they also involved with Bull? Considering what he knows about him, he wouldn't be at all surprised.

And yes, he's obsessing over Bull's possible relationship so he doesn't have to think about his own, what of it? Since Hawke can't even handle a relationship with one person, he has nothing but respect for anyone who can make it work with multiple partners.

Something to the right catches Hawke's eye - Fenris, of course, because Fenris always captures Hawke's attention.

He's all in black, from his Chucks to his beanie, though Hawke's pretty sure there's a splash of red at his wrist under the cuff of his jacket. The thought makes him feel warm inside.

As Fenris approaches the gathered group, his eyes are on Hawke, and he smiles.

"Hello," he says, taking his place by Hawke's side. "Sorry I'm late."

"You're not late, kitten," Isabela says, extricating herself from Bethany to kiss his cheek. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too," Bull says, looking Fenris up and down and not being at all subtle about it. "You're pretty damn cute."

"I'm also taken," Fenris says coolly, and Hawke stares at him, astonished, delight leaping up inside him. Does he mean with Hawke? He must, right? Fenris glances at Hawke and then quickly away, but not before Hawke can see his cheeks flushed. "Sort of."

"Oh, so _you're_ the plus one," Bull says and laughs, clapping Hawke on the back and making him stagger forwards. "Very nice."

"I - I don't-" Hawke glances at Fenris, who's grinning, and decides to risk, "He is, isn't he?"

Isabela gives a throaty laugh and winks at Hawke before calling out, "Alright, our crew is assembled! Everyone aboard!"

The boat gets even more impressive once they step inside. It's the sort of thing Hawke's only ever seen on TV shows, usually owned by rich criminals, right before the police come aboard and arrest them. Knowing Varric and his more dubious contacts, Hawke can only hope that isn't going to happen tonight.

The walls and floors are mostly polished wood, with two huge, white leather sofas facing each other. At one end of the room there's a bar with a flat screen TV, and a blond man in a white shirt and black waistcoat, ready to serve them all manner of drinks.

Isabela is looking around in delight, and pulls Bethany to her for a kiss.

"Now _this_ is a birthday," she says.

"I'm a little scared to touch anything," Hawke says to Fenris. "If I broke something it'd take me a year's salary to replace. And that includes the wine glasses."

"It must be lavish if it impresses you, Lord Hawke."

Hawke can't answer for a moment, he's too busy being delighted at Fenris's easy flirting. "My family doesn't have a boat. At least, I don't think so. Before we found out about my mother's inheritance, my uncle managed to gamble an impressive amount of it away. It's a miracle we got the house. If there was a boat, Gamlen probably lost it at cards.”

“Surely not?”

“You've not met Gamlen,” Hawke says, and hopes he never will. Hawke's never introduced any boyfriends to Gamlen for a reason. Lots of reasons, actually.

Fenris chuckles at that and sits on one of the huge sofas; Hawke sits beside him.

The rest take their places either on the sofas or sitting at the bar, and Isabela gives quick introductions - Undercut's name is Dorian, Sidecut is Arun - and then, cocking her hip, she looks amongst all of them and gives a sultry smile.

"Now, since it's my birthday, I get to decide what we're going to do. And that, my friends, is a drinking game. _Lots_ of drinking games."

"Count me out," Aveline says, cutting the air with a decisive hand motion. "Someone has to be a responsible adult."

"Oh really, big girl?” Isabela rolls her eyes. “You and your obsession with responsibility.”

“I'm a police officer, Isabela.”

“Is that it? Or are you just scared?"

"Scared of _what?"_

"Everyone discovering what a lightweight you are? Getting drunk and telling me all the Donnic-related secrets you're keeping?"

"I am not a lightweight and I am not scared," Aveline says through gritted teeth. She's on her feet now, glaring at Isabela. As much as Hawke is used to their friendly antagonism, this is getting a bit heated. He doesn't like it.

"Prove it." Isabela leans closer, still smirking

"I will – as long as someone else agrees to be responsible."

"I'll do it," Hawke says quickly, glad of an opportunity to do something to diffuse the situation. "I don't mind. I'll be the designated responsible adult."

Isabela pouts. "You can't come to _my_ birthday party and not have a drink."

"I'll have one beer," Hawke says, a compromise, and Aveline looks at him approvingly.

"Make sure no-one falls overboard," she says – _what!?_ – and then turns back to Isabela. "Game on, slattern."

Tonight, Hawke reflects as Isabela starts lining up shots, is going to be interesting.

"Are you joining in?" Hawke asks Fenris, who shakes his head.

"I don't think so. I'll drink with you."

Hawke eyes the bar. "You know, I think they probably have the ingredients for a Screaming Orgasm."

Fenris laughs softly and shakes his head. "No - you're the only person I want to give me one of those." When Hawke stares at him open-mouthed, he gives an impish grin and adds, "Eventually."

When Hawke regains the ability to speak, he says, "Merlot, then?"

With a shrug, he says, "I'll have whatever you're having."

Hawke gets their beers and then settles back at Fenris's side. The others are starting with a card game that's already unruly before they've even started drinking, since no one can decide on the rules. Eventually they decide on a bastardised version and Hawke is grateful when Bethany shoots down the idea of playing a strip version of it.

"I'm not taking my clothes off in front of my brother," she says, and as disappointed as Isabela looks, she agrees.

Lounging around the coffee table, they start playing. Hawke's pretty sure the rules they've chosen contradict each other, but he keeps that to himself. 

He notices that Tamlen, the only other person still on the sofa, is also not drinking; given what a lightweight Merrill is, that's probably for the best. Right now Isabela is telling her about body shots and Merrill is listening with great interest, nodding frequently.

Everyone else has had rather too many drinks by the time Varric declares that he's won with such confidence that everyone agrees with him. They start on a game of truth or dare which Hawke is invited to and quickly declines. He's not got many skeletons in his closet but he's fairly sure that Isabela's got some dares planned for him, and the kind of embarrassing truths he would not want Fenris to hear if he wimps out on the dares.

Fenris touches his arm. "I'm just going to get some fresh air."

"I'll come with you," Hawke says immediately. "Tamlen, can you take over the babysitting?" When Tamlen nods, Hawke grabs his jacket and follows Fenris out onto the deck.

He's not sure where they are; this far downriver there are no landmarks, not much of anything other than dots of suburban light on the shore. The only noise is from the boat's engine and the sound of water against the hull as it meanders along the Thames. Even the sounds of the party inside are muffled and muted, making it seem far away. It makes this moment feel very private.

Hawke glances at Fenris out on the corner of his eye. Lit by the soft yellow lights on the deck, the wind playing with his hair, he looks... Different. More relaxed. He has a hand on the railing, and Hawke looks down at it, at the lines of his tattoos, and feels the usual lurch in his stomach about how pretty they are, about how much he hates the way they were forced on him.

"This is a nice boat," Fenris says, and Hawke nods.

"Yeah - belongs to one of Varric's friends, apparently."

"It doesn't surprise me. The man has a lot of contacts."

"That he does."

"I suppose it helps with his writing. Especially crime writing. Knowing a lot of people who know a lot of things."

Fenris quiets, gazing out at the dark water, and Hawke searches for something to say. He's trying to keep things on a just friends level, but Varric was right – it's hard. 

"How's your writing going?" He tries.

"It's... Going," Fenris says, and shrugs as he straightens up. "I've been a little distracted lately."

"Oh?"

"Mm." He glances at Hawke with a mischievous smile. "Trying to iron out this rather complicated relationship I'm in with a handsome man. Makes it hard to concentrate."

Hawke looks at him, and takes a couple of breaths before continuing. Fenris's tone is playful, but this is still a serious matter. It's also very much not just-friends.

"He must feel very lucky, this man."

"Oh?" Fenris cocks his head, bird like, looking straight ahead at the dark waters of the river. "I was thinking he would feel frustrated."

"Not with you."

And then Fenris's hand is bumping against Hawke's, his fingers slotting between his. Still looking out at the water, Hawke smiles and squeezes Fenris's hand.

"I missed you," Fenris says suddenly. "When you weren't coming into Deep Roads. I missed you so much. Even more than I thought I would."

"What did you miss most about me?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe the way that you grin like an idiot whenever I say something nice to you."

It's true. He's grinning right now, wide enough to hurt his cheeks.

"Oh, well then. I suppose you better keep saying nice things, then."

"I suppose I'd better."

They stand there, hand in hand, watching the river go by.

Hawke shivers - perhaps it wasn't quite time to retire the greatcoat just yet.

"Chilly?" Fenris asks, and when Hawke nods, he puts his arm around Hawke's waist. All along his right side Hawke is suddenly deliciously warm where Fenris is pressed against him. "Better?"

"Best," Hawke says, and risks putting his arm around Fenris's shoulder. Fenris doesn't move away; in fact he moves closer, leaning his head against Hawke's shoulder.

They're like that a while, sharing warmth, listening to each other breathe, until the noise of something breaking inside the cabin interrupts their closeness.

"That doesn't sound good," Fenris says, glancing behind them, and Hawke sighs.

"No, it doesn't. We should probably see what's going on."

Still holding hands, they go to investigate.

What they find inside is - well, it's not really a surprise that things have gotten slightly out of control, but the length its gotten to is almost humorous.

Tamlen and the barman are both trying to keep a very large bottle of rum out of Isabela's hands, but Varric has managed to get his hands on a similarly sized bottle of whiskey.

Bull has three normal sized bottles of vodka on the table in front of him and his arms are folded patiently.

Where the hell is Aveline? Even drunk, she's normally the voice of reason – but then Hawke spies her snoozing, curled up in an armchair in the corner with Merrill.

It looks like it's up to him to wrangle this under control.

"Alright, what's going on here?" He says, stepping forwards and trying his best to look in control. Leader-ish. 

"We're going to see who can drink the most between me, Isabela and Bull," Varric says, like it's the most obvious, most sensible thing in the world.

Hawke rubs his forehead, wondering if this would be less annoying if he was drunk too. But he promised to be the designated responsible adult, and so he will be. Fenris silently laughing by his side is not helping, even if it is adorable.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Spoilsport," Isabela says, trying - and failing- to grab the rum again.

"Come on, Hawke, where's the harm?" Varric asks, and Hawke scowls at him.

"Bull probably weighs more than both of you put together!"

"Probably," Bull agrees, flexing as if to prove his point. Hawke rolls his eyes, annoyance flaring when he sees Fenris's gaze flick to Bull's arms. The annoyance quickly transfers to himself - _jealousy? Really?_

"My point being - no one is trying to outdrink anyone. We are not ending tonight in a hospital waiting room while someone has their stomach pumped."

"He's right, Izzy," Bethany says, sitting up and taking Isabela's hand. "Let's not not get competitive about this."

With a dramatic sigh, Isabela flops onto the couch by her side. "Fine. But only because I don't want to hurt Bull's manly pride by winning."

And so things get back to normal, or as normal as they ever are with Hawke's friends.

Hawke sits and takes his coat off. Fenris sits by his side and touches his bicep. When Hawke raises an eyebrow at him, he says,

"I think you have the nicest arms I've ever seen."

Hawke looks down at his arms, then over to Bull, who is undeniably bigger all over - well, Hawke doesn't know about _all over,_ but he'd be willing to bet money on it.

"Even nicer than Bull's?"

"Definitely," Fenris says, his fingers tracing the lines of Hawke's tattoo, and that feels nice. Really nice. 

He's almost immediately distracted by the need to stop Isabela from grabbing the rum after all – _you only said I couldn't drink it to challenge Bull!_ – but still. 

Hawke is counting tonight as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After last week's random midweek update, we should be back on track for Sundays (and hopefully earlier than today). As ever thank you so much for your kudos and comments! They mean the world to me <3 <3 <3
> 
> You should definitely check out [this fanart of Hawke and Fenris](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/134024414065/icedancerdraws-quick-lineart-for-the-day-i%22) by icedancerdraws, because it is _killing_ me with how sweet it is :3
> 
> Oh, and Arun is [my Lavellan](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/123301972485/arun-lavellan-the-herald-of-andraste-i-wanted-to%22). Since my Warden had a cameo, I had to give one to my Inquisitor as well :)


	23. Chapter 23

Hawke had big hopes for tonight.

He's hosting a Fellowship of the Rings movie night, and making hobbit-esque food for his guests - basically traditional British food. Mushroom pie, roast veggies, various kinds of potato. He even found something online that claims to be an elvish dessert.

Things started to go wrong half an hour ago, when he sliced his hand open chopping carrots. Luckily Anders was in his living room, and Hawke's panicked yelp drew him into the kitchen. He cleaned and bandaged it for him after announcing he didn't need stitches, which is something, Hawke supposes. Not really a great omen for the night, though.

Which is unfortunate, since this will be the first time that Fenris has been in his flat since... Since the last time. When he left. 

But this is going to be different. Just a movie night, and there'll be other people – it'll be fine. And they've been moving slowly, making their way back to each other. It'll be fine, Hawke's at least fifty percent sure of that. 

After cleaning up, Hawke supervises while Anders does the rest of the chopping, until Anders gets tired of his micromanaging and shoos him into the front room.

So that's where Hawke is now, sitting on his sofa and checking his phone every five minutes.

Aveline is bringing Isabela; knowing that Isabela would be on the rum, she offered to be the designated driver. Hawke thinks that it might also be a little bit because she feels guilty about leaving Hawke to be responsible at Isabela's party a few weeks ago. All things considered, Hawke didn't mind it; he got to spend time with Fenris, and there was hand-holding, and even a bit of cuddling. That's a win in his book.

Other than the two of them and Anders, Fenris is the only other one coming. The thought had crossed his mind that he could maybe invite _just_ Fenris, but he'd quickly decided against it. They're not there yet, not quite. 

With every morning that passes, things get a little easier between the two of them. They're slipping into their previous easy camaraderie, a little flirting, a lot of smiling. And though Hawke likes him and wants to get back to official dates, he doesn't want to rush things.

So.

Film night with friends. 

The invitation was extended to Anders when Hawke found out that he had the night off. Thanks to Anders's busy schedule, they don't get to spend all that much time together. Now that he's had a little time to think about it, he's not sure how good an idea this was, to have him in the same room as Fenris . That night after Varric's party, they despised each other for no reason whatsoever. Since Anders now _has_ a reason – the whole breaking Hawke's heart thing – surely it's just going to be worse. But he's promised to behave, and that's good enough for Hawke.

"Do I just put it in the oven?" Anders calls, and Hawke rushes into the kitchen before Anders sets fire to something. Which sounds overly dramatic but there was a microwave popcorn incident that involved the fire brigade, smoke damage, and a minor explosion. Hawke doesn't trust Anders around food.

"I'll do it," Hawke says, awkwardly trying to take the baking dish out of the oven one-handed.

"At least let me do that," Anders says when he struggles. "I promise I can touch cookware without it spontaneously combusting."

"I'll hold you to that," Hawke mutters, but Anders manages to remove it and place it on the trivet without incident, and then return it once Hawke has added the carrots and parsnips to it. 

All the food in the oven, they retreat back into the front room. Hawke puts the TV on, but as he's clicking through the channels, he becomes very aware of Anders looking at him. Not that it takes any great level of observation; he's not bring remotely subtle.

Hawke turns to him, and finds him frowning deeply. Hawke knows that look. It's his Fenris-look, and it is _distinctly_ different to Hawke's Fenris-look.

Still, though, Hawke asks, "Everything alright?" 

"Fenris is still coming?"

"Yes."

"And I suppose there's no way to talk you out of this?"

"No."

They've already had this discussion, a discussion that almost verged on an argument. 

Anders thinks Hawke is moving too fast. In fact, he would much prefer that Hawke not move at all. Hawke thinks that not seeing Fenris for six weeks was more than enough. Fenris has apologised, and Hawke understands that there are things in Fenris's past, things he's not talked about but that Hawke has started to guess at, that made him leave. It's complicated, he knows that, but he's confident that they can work things out, because they both want it to. 

Anders looks uncomfortable, like he wants to say more on the matter. Hawke really doesn't want to hear it, and they're both rescued by the doorbell ringing. 

Relieved, Hawke goes to answer.

It's Fenris, looking casual and handsome in jeans, a charcoal hoodie and the ever-present beanie. He's wearing the new black Chucks, which Hawke learned recently was a gift from his red-haired friend in Berlin, and it goes without saying that he looks gorgeous.

"Come in," he says, remembering his manners after staring a few seconds too long. He stands aside so that Fenris can step into the hallway. Since Hawke is still staring at him – he can't _help_ it – he doesn't miss the way Fenris glances at the wall he'd pushed Hawke against, where he'd kissed him, wet and messy and breathless and-

Hawke swallows.

They go into the flat, and Fenris and Anders exchange a cursory nod of greeting but nothing more. Once more Hawke wonders if having the two of them in the same place at the same time was really such a good idea, but mentally shrugs. It's too late now.

"I brought wine," Fenris says, holding lifting a paper bag.

"Great," Hawke says and leads him into the kitchen. He reaches for a glass, and Fenris makes a startled noise. Hawke looks up to see what's wrong and Fenris is standing close, gently taking Hawke's bandaged hand in his own.

"What happened?" He asks, frowning. He looks up and their eyes meet. Hawke thinks _forest green_ and feels a warm, floaty sort of happiness rise up inside him.

"I cut myself. Nothing to worry about, Anders patched me up."

"I do worry," Fenris murmurs, gently running his thumb over the crisp white bandage. "Be careful, Hawke. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

He sounds so - sincere, and there's a depth to his voice that makes Hawke sure that he means it, every word. He looks down at his hand; it's not that bad an injury, not at all, and Hawke suspects there's something else behind those words, especially when Fenris gives an embarrassed laugh, sounding forced, and looks away.

"I'm being dramatic, aren't I? Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise for worrying about me, Fenris."

"You always seem to give me things _to_ worry about," Fenris says, shaking his head, and then pulls his beanie off. 

Hawke gasps. 

Dramatically. 

Fenris has cut his hair. 

It's still long in front, where it hides his secret tattoo, but it's shorter at the back and sides, about a quarter inch.

Fenris gives a nervous smile and runs a hand through the longer bits. 

"I only went in for a trim but the hairdresser persuaded me to try something a little different. I hope it looks alright."

"It looks amazing,” Hawke says quickly, and his fingers twitch. He wants to touch. “Can – can I-" He lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers oh-so-descriptively, but Fenris grins and nods. 

"You can touch it, if you like.”

He would like. 

First he runs his fingers through the longer bit, lifting his bangs a little to steal a glimpse of the tattoo hidden beneath. Then he slides them over the shorter bit above his ear, round to the back of his head. It's soft and fuzzy under his fingers, and it's nice, but not as nice as Fenris's reaction. His eyes flutter closed, a smile curving his lips as he leans into Hawke's touch. 

Holy fuck, this is hot. 

"I like it," Hawke says, his voice a little deep, and Fenris's eyes open a little, a lazy smile on his lips. 

"I wasn't sure, but I think you've convinced me."

"You like this?" He asks, fingertips running over the back of Fenris's head, down to his neck, and he can _see_ him shiver. 

"Yes," he says, putting a hand to Hawke's chest. "That feels good, Hawke."

"Oh?" Hawke says, and does it again. Fenris steps closer, his other hand going to Hawke's waist. 

"Yes," he repeats, and he's looking straight into Hawke's eyes, and unless he's very much mistaken, Fenris is as turned on by this as Hawke is. They probably shouldn't – they almost certainly shouldn't – but Hawke can't seem to help himself. He rests his injured hand gently on Fenris's hip, and Fenris moves closer still, close enough that Hawke can _feel_ when he _hmms,_ almost a purr of pleasure. 

Why was this a bad idea again? Hawke can't seem to remember. 

So it's probably for the best that Isabela chooses that exact moment to step into the kitchen with a large box in her hands.

Both her eyebrows raise high, and she grins widely.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she says as she puts the box on the counter, where the glass contents clink together. "Actually no; I hope there is something for me to interrupt."

"Isabela!" Hawke says, staring at her. Her presence is so unexpected that he's not sure how to react. His hand drops away from Fenris's hair, but neither of them move any more that that, apart from Fenris twisting a little so that he can see her. "What- where did you come from?"

"Originally, or just now?"

"I _mean_ , how did you get in my flat? I didn't hear the doorbell."

"That's because i didn't ring it, kitten," she says, and Aveline comes in behind her, putting a twelve-pack of Coke next to the box that is almost certainly full of alcohol.

"Then how?"

She winks as she gets a bottle of rum out of the box and says, "I have my ways."

Hawke moans. "I swear, you're as bad as Varric."

She laughs as she helps herself to one of his glasses, pours a healthy about of rum into it, then tops it up with a very small amount of Coke. She hands the rest of the can to Aveline, and takes a big gulp of her drink. "Hawke, really. You know very well that I'm much worse than Varric, in all the best ways."

What else was Hawke expecting from her, really? Aveline is another matter, though. He thought he could trust her and says as much.

"You're a police officer! Why didn't you stop her breaking into my house?"

"We heard screams inside and came to investigate," she says, deadpan. Since since Fenris is still so close, Hawke can feel him shaking as he laughs, so at least this home invasion is good for something. He should probably call the landlord about the locks, though. 

"You want a drink, Fenris?" Isabela asks. "I've got plenty."

"I have my own, thanks," he says, and steps away from Hawke to reach for his abandoned wine. 

"Love the hair by the way," she adds. "No wonder Hawke was feeling you up."

"I was not!" Hawke lies, and Isabela just grins at him. Aveline shakes her head, but she's smiling, too. She's still not quite on board with Hawke getting back with Fenris, but she's starting to relent. 

Once he's answered their questions about his hand and assured them that he's fine, he grabs his own drink and they convene in the living room. 

Now that they're all here, it's time to start the movie. Hawke's timed it perfectly. The food will be ready by the time the hobbits get to the Prancing Pony; a good place to pause.

Isabela suggests a drinking game but Aveline shoots it down quickly.

"No more drinking games. Ever"

"You can drink your Coke-"

"No. No drinking games for anyone. Not after the boat."

Anders laughs. "I feel sorry I missed it."

"We'll do it again when you have a day off," Isabela says, and reaches over to pat his knee. "Varric's friend said we could borrow it any time."

"Don't bet on it," Aveline says, and Isabela waves her words away.

"You're just angry because you had a hangover the next day. It's not my fault you can't hold your liquor, big girl."

"Alright!" Hawke says before their argument get any further. Sometimes, like now, it's hard to tell whether the argument is going to go bad or stay at the friendly rivalry stage, and he doesn't want to risk it. "Movie time. No drinking games - but everyone has a drink?"

He looks around: Anders is on one end of the sofa with a glass of wine in his hand. Hawke is next to him, with a beer. Fenris is next, with Merlot. Isabela has her rum-with-splash-of-Coke. She's taken the corner of the sofa, and has her legs stretched out like she's a queen lounging on a chaise longue. And then at the other end is Aveline with her Coke, glaring at Isabela, who keeps poking her with her toe.

Everyone has a drink, everyone is comfortable: Hawke's duties as a host are complete.

He hits play.

Since they've all seen the movie multiple times, they don't have to concentrate too much. They make jokes, mention random bits of trivia. Isabela keeps a running tally of who she would and wouldn't have sex with.

By the time the Prancing Pony scene comes on, they've had about two drinks and Fenris is leaning against Hawke a little, slouched in his seat and his head resting on Hawke's shoulder. Hawke's buzzed enough that he's pleased instead of anxious, and it barely takes any courage at all to put his arm over Fenris's shoulder. That doesn't mean he isn't very, very pleased when Fenris snuggles up to him.

The only negative thing is the palpable annoyance emanating from Anders, but he doesn't say anything.

Even when he movie is paused and he goes into the kitchen to help Hawke plate out the food, he doesn't say anything other than,

"I hope you know what you're doing, Hawke."

Hawke can only laugh at that. "Do I ever?"

Anders sighs, but he's smiling, too, like he can't help himself. "Very true. I just hope this doesn't bite you in the arse."

"Kinky," Hawke says, and Anders laughs then. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you're ridiculous?"

"Often."

Anders shakes his head, and then squeezes Hawke's good hand. "Just remember, you said you were going to take it slow."

"I know. And I am. But as much as I appreciate your concern, it's time to eat."

The food is an all-round success. It looks good, it tastes even better, and everyone approves.

"You did say you were a good cook," Fenris says when he's done. "I have to agree."

"I'd love to cook for you sometime. You could come round and- Uh. Not - anything else. Just food."

Anders snorts, and Hawke ignores him.

"I think I'd like that," Fenris says, meeting Hawke's eyes and smiling warmly. Hawke tries to ignore Isabela's thumbs up and Aveline laughing behind her hand. Hawke doesn't even want to know what Anders is doing.

After dessert, the movie restarts and Isabela most decidedly puts Aragorn on her to-do list. Everyone agrees, even Aveline.

"I'm shocked," Isabela says, putting her hand to her chest and clutching non-existent pearls. "What would Donnic say?"

Aveline gives her best withering look. "It doesn't matter how much you prod me, I'm not telling you anything more about him."

"You know, you say that, but I can be very persuasive."

"I think you mean annoying."

"Either works," Isabela says, and Aveline sighs heavily.

Hawke can't say he's not intrigued about Donnic. Aveline has told him very little, and when he saw the two of them together a few weeks ago at a meeting, they seemed very proper and formal. At a guess, she hasn't made a move yet, and he's amazed at her patience. If it _is_ patience and not just awkward fumbling like he did – and let's be honest, still does – around Fenris. Though Aveline presents a professional face to the world, she definitely has her awkward moments. Making a mental note to ask her about it when Isabela isn't around, Hawke turns his attention back to the movie.

It doesn't stay there long.

About half an hour later, Fenris runs a finger down the seam of Hawke's jeans. The outside seam, but still. It's impossible to concentrate on anything else, especially when he starts to get hard.

 _Oh god,_ Hawke thinks, and he's a little relieved when Fenris takes his hand instead, slotting their fingers together and resting them on Hawke's knee. It still makes it hard to concentrate on anything else, though.

Especially when everyone else is looking, too.

So he's a little relieved when the credits start to roll, and Isabela makes a big show of yawning dramatically.

"I'm going to have to ask you to take me home, big girl. I need an early night."

Hawke sees them to the door and Isabela kisses his cheek. She gives him a very fond smile and squeezes his good hand. "Things seemed to be going well in there, hmm?"

"Seemed to be," Hawke says, not wanting to push his luck by being overly optimistic. There were certainly a lot of going-well moments, though, he'll say that. 

“Good luck, kitten. Just be careful."

"Always," Hawke says, and then amends to, "Most of the time."

Isabela nods knowingly, and then presses something into his hand. When he looks down, it's the silvery square of a condom wrapper.

"That's not what I meant! Of course I always – _that_ – I mean – you know what I mean!"

"You're so cute when you're flustered," Isabela says and pats his cheeks. "Keep it. You might need it."

"Not tonight."

"Maybe not. But soon, hmm?" She hugs him tightly and then puts the condom in his back pocket. "Save it for later. It's an extra large one so it should fit."

_"Isabela!"_

Laughing she leaves with a wave, and Aveline follows after wishing Hawke a good night.

When Hawke goes back into the living room, he finds that Fenris has moved to the exact other end of the sofa, as far away from Anders as he can get. It would be funny, except that it's really not.

He sits next to Fenris. The credits are still rolling, and Hawke announces that it's time for more dessert. Fenris and Anders both agree - it's nice that they can agree on _something_. Hawke's not entirely sure what's Elvish about it, but it is delicious, and he'll be making it again whenever they have their Two Towers night. 

By the time the credits have finally finished, Fenris is sitting up from where he's been slouched comfortably, and he stretches elegantly, cat-like; unfortunately the similarity isn't going to be enough to get Anders to like him.

"I should go," he says. "I'm working tomorrow."

"Of course. I'll walk you to the station."

"No, it's fine. Really," Fenris says, holding up a hand and forestalling any arguments from Hawke. He still wants to – really wants to. Even though he lives in a good neighbourhood, he still gets nervous about people walking alone in the dark. Probably a big brother thing. 

But he pushes his worries away, and sees him to the door. They stand in the slightly-chilly hallway, the only light from the open door of Hawke's flat, and Fenris says,

"I wanted to thank you. For asking me to come along again, Hawke."

"Is there a reason I wouldn't?"

A few, yeah, and Hawke's pretty sure Anders could come up with a few more he's not even thought of. Still. The reasons _to_ invite him far outweigh those.

"I'm just - pleased. To see you again," Fenris says, and from behind them Hawke hears Anders laughing at their shared awkwardness. If Fenris hears it, he ignores it, and gently touches Hawke's bandaged hand. "Be careful, alright?"

Hawke's suddenly very aware of Isabela saying those words not half a hour ago, and of the condom still in his back pocket. Now wouldn't _that_ be awkward if Fenris saw it?

"I will. You too."

"I'll try," Fenris says, bowing his head and gazing at a scratch in the wooden floor. But then he lifts his head and steps forwards; before Hawke can react or even process what's happening, Fenris's arms are tight around him and he's kissing him, hard, desperate. God, how did Hawke forget what a good kisser he is? The warmth of his mouth, the feel of his hard body; the slight desperation of his kiss, the hand on the back of his neck. Fenris's hair, long and short both under his own hand. 

_Yes,_ Hawke thinks and sinks into it, and it feels so good, so _right_.

All too soon Fenris is pulling away, biting his lip against a smile, then leans in again to drop another small kiss onto Hawke's lips before stepping backwards, as though he knows he wouldn't be able to stop himself otherwise.

"I, ah, didn't plan for that to happen," Fenris says as he pulls his beanie on. 

"I'm glad it did."

"Me too."

They look at each other and Hawke doesn't know what to say; all his braincells are too busy celebrating to do anything useful like thinking.

Fenris leans in for one last lingering kiss, and then tugs his beanie straight.

"Thanks again, Hawke. I'll see you Monday. Maybe we can make plans then?"

Hawke nods, perhaps a little too quickly. "Yes. Definitely. Have a good night, Fenris. Text me when you get home."

He stands in the outside doorway despite the chill, watching Fenris until he turns a corner.

_He kissed me. He kissed me!_

This is a good sign. A really good sign. They're still taking it slow - Hawke will make sure of it - but this thing is definitely moving again.

He's grinning when he steps into the living room to see Anders looking decidedly unimpressed.

"Hawke-"

"If you're gong to ask me if I know what I'm doing, the answer is no," Hawke says, and Anders sighs.

"Yeah, I've noticed. And I also still don't like him. I've got a bad feeling about him, Hawke. Even more since he broke your heart – or have you forgotten about that?"

"No," Hawke says, a little sharper than he means to. He's thought about this all a hundred times and though he might not know what he's doing, he knows what he wants - what he wants down to his bones, what every part of him wants, and that is Fenris. So, so much.

"I genuinely appreciate you worrying about me. But I'm okay. I promise." 

"I _do_ worry, Hawke. It was only a few months ago that you were in my flat, crying. I hated seeing you like that."

Hawke softens, and nods. "I know. But – this feels right, Anders. And he hurt me, but-" He shakes his head, words failing him. "I care about him, and he cares about me," he says, simple but true.

"Alright," Anders says, and stands up. "And you know I'm always going to be here for you."

"I do know. And I appreciate it."

Anders startles him then by stepping forward and hugging him tightly. Two surprise hugs in one night. That's a record. A good one. Hawke holds him back, and smiles against his neck. He really does appreciate Anders's concern. He knows it comes from a good place. 

They sit and watch a couple of the extras while enjoying another drink, and most of the tension between them has dissolved. By the time Anders goes up to his flat, things are almost back to normal. Hawke's glad; Anders is one of his best friends, and the last thing he wants is for something to come between them. Especially since things are still so fragile with Fenris – he needs to have people he knows he can rely on. He's glad Anders is one of them. 

He waits until he gets a message from Fenris before heading to bed. 

_**Fenris**_ _(11:32pm)_  
_Home now. Thanks again for inviting me. I had a good time. Especially that last bit ;)_

Grinning, Hawke replies, _Yeah, that was my favourite bit, too. Hope we can do it again sometime._ He sends, and Fenris replies so quickly that Hawke's anxiety barely has time to get into a _why the hell did you send that_ overdrive. 

_**Fenris** _ _(11:33pm)_  
_Definitely. We'll talk about it Monday xx_

Kisses!

Real kisses and now text message kisses. 

When Hawke goes to bed, it's with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this chapter! I had some job applications that took me waaaay longer than I expected BUT I got interviews! They're next week, so fingers crossed it was worth it. And then of course this chapter was kicking my ass. I actually rewrote huge chunks of it as I was editing, and the Fenris haircut suddenly appeared (possibly because of [this gorgeous art](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/135014440084/jazitupart-modern-day-fenris-sketch) I reblogged the other day - though I picture FH Fenris's hair to be longer, certainly long enough to hide the tattoos at the back of his head). 
> 
> Oh! And I am also doing a Fenhawke advent calendar over on tumblr, where I'm writing a drabble a day. If you'd like to check them out, [just click here!](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/tagged/fenhawke-advent-calendar)


	24. Chapter 24

Hawke's not a fan of Mondays. Especially ones where he has to get up extra early for an 8am meeting with Meredith. 

He sits bleary-eyed on the train, desperately missing his bed. There is one ray of hope, and it's a pretty bright one: seeing Fenris. Hawke actually left the house a little earlier than he needed to, just so he could have an extra five minutes in Fenris's company. Even if that only means sitting at a table and watching him make lattes for people, it will still be an excellent start to the morning. 

Especially after Friday night. 

Just the thought of it makes Hawke smile. Fenris kissed him! And what a kiss it was. A series of kisses, really, Hawke thinks, playing it through in his mind. The touch of Fenris's lips against his, soft and warm; the feel of his short-and-long hair beneath his fingers. The look in his eyes that made Hawke absolutely certain that his feelings are returned. 

And then on Saturday, they had a brief, flirtatious text exchange, started by Fenris saying _I can't stop thinking about kissing you_ and ending with _We'd better stop or I'm going to spend all day at work hard_. 

Hawke has to keep reminding himself to go slow, and he will. Even if – _when_ – they start officially dating again, he will make absolutely certain that they take things slowly. Because they have to. Fenris needs them to. And after what happened last time, Hawke needs them to as well. 

But. 

Kissing counts as taking it slow, right? 

As the train pulls into Tower Gateway, Hawke hauls himself to his feet, yawning widely as he heads out to the street. The sky overhead is grey and heavy with the promise of rain, and the lack of sunlight seems to leech a little life out of everyone. Hawke sighs and thinks about taking an impromptu vacation somewhere sunny. It's only a daydream, so it doesn't count as moving too fast when he thinks about asking Fenris to come with him. The thought sends his imagination into overdrive, suggesting exactly how good Fenris would look in swim shorts, or better yet, a Speedo, revealing all of his slender, strong body, the long limbs, the tattoos, the scars. And Hawke would kiss him all over, every bit of exposed skin, especially the scars because they deserve extra love-

 _Good grief,_ Hawke thinks as he steps into Deep Roads. _Stop it._

He manages to push the daydream aside, but it's not easy. 

Especially when Fenris is right there at the counter, not in a Speedo but looking lovely nonetheless. He looks up when he hears the door and smiles warmly at him. Hawke, of course, cannot _help_ but smile back. 

“Good morning,” Fenris says. “You're a little early, aren't you?”

“Got a meeting,” Hawke says, and yawns again as he reaches the counter. 

“How's the hand?” Fenris asks, reaching over to take it. He turns it over so that he can see the angry red line cutting across Hawke's palm, and frowns as he runs his finger very gently underneath it. “Does it hurt?”

“A little. But I'll be brave,” Hawke says, and Fenris grins, lifting it so that he can kiss his knuckles, just as Hawke did to him a few weeks ago – he does it better, too, since he doesn't drop anything. Joy ricochets around inside Hawke like a pinball. He's not sure whether hand kissing is _quite_ as good as the incredible but far too brief make-out session on Friday, but it's definitely close. 

“The usual?” Fenris asks, reaching for the paper cups. 

“Yeah. And a croissant, please. I need something to get me through this meeting.”

Fenris nods and turns to make his latte, and Tamlen comes out of the kitchen with a tray of croissants in his hands. Excellent timing. He smiles at Hawke in greeting, and is it Hawke's imagination or does he look a little more _loved up_ than normal? He makes a mental note to ask Merrill for an update next time he sees her. 

“Hello, Hawke,” he says. “Lovely day, isn't it?”

Hawke glances outside, at the overcast skies, then over at Fenris, who is facing the coffee machine and proving Isabela's point that he really does have a fantastic arse. 

“Absolutely,” he agrees. 

Once Hawke has his croissant and coffee, there's a rush that demands Fenris's attention. Hawke takes a seat that means he gets the very best view of Fenris. Long legs clad in black skinny jeans. Elegant fingers making magic with milk. His gorgeous new hairstyle that Hawke wants to touch all over again. Best of all, the way he keeps glancing up at Hawke and smiling. 

Hawke takes back all his negative thoughts about Mondays. Monday mornings are great. 

Once the rush is over, Fenris comes over and hands him a cookie in a paper bag. When Hawke raises an eyebrow at him, he says, “You said you needed sustenance. I just want to make sure you don't fall asleep in your meeting.”

“Thank you,” Hawke says, ridiculously touched, and stands. He's lingered a little longer than he should have, and Meredith will probably be extra sneer-y, but he wanted to talk to Fenris before he left. “So. What we said on Friday, about maybe doing something this week. Do you have any ideas?”

“Actually, I do. A new place opened up near me. A fondue place.”

Hawke grins. “Do you want to fondue with me, Fenris?”

“Absolutely.”

“That sounds amazing. I'll be at Mum's on Wednesday but other than that I'm all yours.”

“I hope so,” Fenris says, and bites his lip, glancing away as pink spreads over his cheeks. “How about tomorrow, then?”

Tomorrow sounds excellent, and Hawke says so. 

When he goes to work, he's so happy that not even Meredith-with-extra-sneers can bring him down.

===

The fondue place is very Hackney. 

It's almost as full of plaid-wearing hipsters as the beer tasting pub was, and once more Hawke's glad he decided to wear something different. He wore a t-shirt without considering Fenris's fondness for his arms. The instant he slid his hoodie off he remembered, since Fenris's gaze snapped to them and he visibly swallowed. Hawke congratulates his past self for the excellent sartorial decision.

The restaurant itself has lots of industrial piping and brushed steel. The tables and chairs are made of irregular pieces of reclaimed wood; that along with the copious use of fairy lights give the overall impression of a faery picnic in a factory.

Not that Hawke cares all that much about the décor. He's never cared much about hipster interior design anyway; he definitely doesn't care when he has Fenris with him, smiling as he tells him about his day, wincing as he mentions the entire tour bus ordering complicated drinks while he was on his own in the shop.

It's the first time they've been out alone together since their last official date. And this isn't an official date, but it's nice. It's nice in the same way it used to be. Easy and relaxed and comfortable, and there's so much smiling and even a bit of hand holding across the table.

There's also a hell of a lot of fondue.

For the main course they have cheese fondue – Gruyere and Emmenthal, with fruit and bread to dip, and it might be the most delicious thing Hawke has ever eaten in his life. Dessert is chocolate fondue with brownies, cheesecake and marshmallows, and that's the _second_ most delicious thing Hawke's ever eaten. 

When the last piece of cheesecake has been dipped into molten chocolate, Hawke sits back, full, utterly satisfied, and a little bit food coma-y.

He looks across at Fenris. He's in much the same state, Hawke thinks, but he's being much more subtle about it. He watches Fenris undo the buttons on the cuffs of his charcoal shirt, and watches with interest as he rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his forearms. Hawke can't help a peek. More of a stare, really. Fenris has very nice forearms. His gaze trails over them. Strong, slender, tattooed; the red wrist cuff with Hawke's family crest; and then his hands, long-fingered and lovely.

"That was amazing," Hawke says, to distract himself from ogling Fenris. “I never knew how much I needed fondue in my life.”

Fenris laughs, and leans forward. "We'll have to come again sometime."

“I'd love to. But to be honest, I'd love to do anything with you.”

Fenris blushes, but then his gaze drifts away and his smile fades. He goes quiet for a moment, tracing the rim of his glass with a finger. He's frowning a little, eyes unfocused as he looks at nothing. There's clearly something on his mind, but before Hawke can think of the best way to ask, Fenris speaks.

"Since it's still early, do you want to go for a walk?"

Since Hawke is always up for spending more time with Fenris, he agrees. 

After paying they head outside, Fenris directing them since he knows the area.

It's a mild night, and the stars twinkle overhead – what little stars can be seen in London, anyway. They walk slowly, talking, catching up on what happened in those six weeks apart. It's so easy to talk to Fenris. He's quiet, sometimes, but it's an easy silence, one where Hawke doesn't feel uncomfortable at all. A rare thing, that; if there's even the slightest hint of something to worry about, Hawke's mind usually jumps right onto it. Not here. Here he just walks by Fenris's side, happy and content in speech or in silence.

As they walk onto a bridge over a canal, Hawke pauses to take a photo. The banks are lined with apartment buildings, their lights white or yellow squares floating in the darkness. He hoped it would make for a good photo but his phone camera doesn't do it justice.

He sighs as he puts his camera away. “I really need to get a better camera. I dropped my last one on a bridge in Prague and never got around to replacing it.”

"Phone cameras don't always cut it," Fenris agrees, and leans on the railing, looking out at the water. “Especially in low light conditions.”

“Exactly.”

"I considered being a photographer, once," Fenris says. "I think I have a good eye. Composition, lighting, that sort of thing. I don't know any of the technical stuff but I suppose I could learn." He looks down at the canal, at the dancing of reflected light. "Maybe if the writing doesn't work out."

"I think it will. Varric said he thought you were a good writer, and he doesn't give compliments lightly. Not sincere ones, anyway."

Fenris chuckles and turns to face him, back against the railing. He's silent for a moment as he looks at Hawke. "I've written a short story for an anthology. Maybe you'd be interested in reading it before I submit it; you could let me know what you think."

Hawke's taken off guard by the suggestion. He thought that the right to read Fenris's writing would come further into the relationship, certainly after they resumed their official dates. He gets why Fenris is wary of letting people read his stuff - it's a form of vulnerability; of showing people a precious part of you, knowing that they could rip it apart.

"You're sure?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't."

Hawke nods and beams at him, he can't help it. Fenris wants to let him read his work! He's rarely felt so honoured. "I'd really love that, Fenris. Thank you."

Fenris nods and then looks away, covering his mouth with a hand, but not before Hawke sees his smile.

"What is it?"

"I just-" he clears his throat and looks back at Hawke, still smiling, and his gaze is soft. When he speak again it's quietly, and Hawke has to strain to hear him over the muffled notes of sitar music from a nearby restaurant. "I really love your smile, Hawke."

For a moment Hawke can't summon any thought at all; when he does manage, it's little more than a high-pitched mental scream.

From somewhere he pulls a suave smile as he leans with his back against the railing, by Fenris's side. "Good job you make me do it so often, hmm?"

"I suppose it is." He's blushing. Even though it's dark he can see it, and Hawke has never seen anything so delightful in his life. God, Fenris just makes him so _happy_.

"You know, Fenris; if I didn't know better I'd say you've got it nearly as bad as I do."

"That bad, hmm?" Fenris asks, but he pushes up from the railing and stands in front of Hawke, very close, not quite touching, but Hawke can feel his breath on his lips and that's even better. "Maybe I do, Hawke. Maybe I do."

"Fenris," Hawke says, but has nothing to follow it up with. He just looks down at Fenris and wonders how the hell he got this lucky.

And then Fenris is pushing up onto the balls of his feet and kissing him, gentle and sweet, putting a hand to his waist for balance. He pulls back almost straight away but he's still smiling, and he tugs at Hawke's hand to continue their walk.

"For our next – for next time," Fenris starts. "I was thinking about what you were saying about cooking for me."

"I'd like that," Hawke says, his mind instantly running through ideas. Fresh pasta, or curry, or maybe soup with homemade bread. He could go all out and cook something really impressive but that's not the best idea if it's just the two of them; he doesn't want to spend the whole time in the kitchen.

"I know it's a little rude, suggesting something where you have to do the work, but I need to talk to you. Somewhere private."

Hawke looks at him, the words startling him out of his menu planning. "I don't think it's rude. I-" He hesitates. There was something about the way Fenris said that he wants to talk to him. His voice was a little too controlled when he said that, a little too even. "Is everything alright?"

"In private, Hawke," he repeats softly, and squeezes his hand. "When's good for you?"

"The Hanged Man is on hold again this week since Varric is still in Chicago, so how about Friday?"

"Works for me," Fenris says, and lets out a long breath that's not quite a sigh. "And I'm alright. Mostly. I just - we need to discuss some things before we go any further. Or I need to tell you some things. Before we have another official date."

"Alright," Hawke says. "I'm here for you, whatever you need to talk about."

Fenris looks up at him and gives him a smile that doesn't meet his eyes. "I hope so," he says.

They make their way back to the station. Fenris is going north and Hawke, south, so they say their goodbyes at the entrance.

"Thank you for tonight," Fenris says. "We should fondue again."

"We should absolutely fondue," Hawke agrees, and they smile at each other like the dorks they are. Hawke is so glad that Fenris is on the same level as him, even if he hides it better. He tries to be all cool and collected, but Hawke knows the truth.

Fenris lifts a hand to his cheek, a little slowly, a little nervously, but when he steps forward to kiss him there's no hesitation. There's the slightest hint of heat in it, Fenris's tongue sliding over Hawke's upper lip, but then he steps back.

“Thank you for being patient with me, Hawke. I know – I know I can be difficult sometimes.”

“Being patient is part of a relationship,” Hawke says. “And I can be difficult, too.”

“You haven't been so far. So far you've been wonderful, and-” He stops himself and then laughs, shaking his head. “I think you're right, Hawke. I do have it bad.”

They smile at each other and then Hawke kisses him, very gently. “That makes two of us.” 

They head towards the platforms and hold each other's hand until the very last minute, and then steal one last kiss before saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that needed a complete rewrite! Argh! I won't post the original though, like I did with the Handers-scene-that-wasn't, because this scene might show up later on. 
> 
> Just another mention about the Fenhawke Advent Calendar - I'm going to be putting it up on AO3 at some point, but if you'd like to read it on tumblr, [here is the link!](raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/tagged/fenhawke-advent-calendar)
> 
> Aaaand it is both Fenris's and my birthday on Wednesday! Happy birthday to us! xD
> 
> PS I got the job :D At the first interview, too *puts on shades* I'm just glad I didn't have to do any more interviews, they make me soooo nervous omg.
> 
> PPS How could I forget!? There is now an amazing, gorgeous, glorious fanart of the scene from the last chapter where Hawke is _very appreciative_ of Fenris's new haircut. [Click here and check it out :) ](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/135148594130/zoey-and-dakota-raininginadelaide-im-a-huge)


	25. Chapter 25

In the few days since he fondued with Fenris, Hawke has spent most of his free time making a meal plan. After finally perfecting it on Thursday night, he went to the grocery store at midnight to get supplies. He ended up getting new crockery as well, which might be a bit much, but he wants everything to be perfect. His previous collection was made of mismatched remains of previous sets; this one is grey and minimalist – sexy, insofar as plates can be. 

Now he's getting ready to leave work on Friday - on time, for once - which gives him an hour and a half to get home, shower and change, then start cooking before Fenris arrives.

And then after dinner, talking.

Hawke still doesn't know what Fenris wants to talk about. The business about needing to talk in private unnerved him a little, but if Fenris wants to tell him something, he'll listen.

One last check of his email - there's one from Orsino which has the subject line _Meredith's comments at the last meeting_. Hawke doesn't want to know, he really doesn't, so he shuts down his computer and grabs his bag from under his desk. He checks his phone, only to have it immediately turn itself off. No matter. He can charge it when he gets home.

"Are you heading out?" Saemus asks him as he zips his jacket up.

Hawke nods, and they walk out together. Saemus tells him, rather excitedly, that it's his and Ashaad's six month anniversary. They haven't seen each other much lately because of the problems the Qunari are having with the Chantry, but Saemus convinced him to come out tonight. Hawke had already guessed that something special was going on; Saemus always takes pains with his appearance, but he's even more put-together than usual - shirt and waistcoat, neater hair, a nice cologne.

"Six months, eh?" Hawke asks, and is vaguely amused at he fact that they've been going out for such a long time while he and Fenris have been... Whatever they've been. Complicated. "That's quite the anniversary."

"I think so," Saemus says, and smiles, that wide, bright kind of smile that comes of being so happy you're unable to stop yourself.

Hawke smiles too; he's happy for him. Even if a Qunari isn't the kind of person he would ever have expected the mayor's son to end up with, that smile says it all.

As they step outside, Hawke's smile drops away.

On the other side of the path, near the river, there is Ashaad, but he's not waiting for Saemus - he's being set upon by six people.

Saemus gives a wordless cry and runs to him before Hawke can stop him.

Hawke follows him, pushing through the crowd that's quickly gathering around the fight. "Call the police!" He yells at anyone who will listen, and then he's in the centre of the onlookers.

Saemus is already in the middle of the fight, trying to pull a huge guy with a shaved head off Ashaad, who is still on his feet, but barely, his face covered in blood. The guy snarls at Saemus and punches him in the face. Saemus reels back with a cry, a hand to his nose.

Swearing and running on adrenaline rather than anything like clear thinking, Hawke surges forward and tries to grab Saemus, but with a cry and a bloody nose Saemus enters the fray again, beating uselessly on another man's back.

This time Hawke manages to grab Saemus around the waist and pull him away, getting an elbow to the ribs from someone in the tangle of fighters.

"Saemus-"

"They're going to kill him," Saemus cries, tears and horror mingling with anger. "Hawke, please, we have to do something."

For a moment, Hawke freezes - what does he know about fighting? He did some tae kwon do in high school but since then the nearest he's got to a fight is box fit classes at the gym.

But then Ashaad falls to his knees and the attackers close in, and Hawke moves without thought. He pushes a pale guy with a sleeve tattoo away, and grabs another man's arm. The man snarls something at Hawke – is that French? – and then punches him in the face.

There's a flash of pain, of shock and disbelief, and then some deep-seated memory - or maybe just pure reaction - makes Hawke lift his arms in defence against another punch. He makes one of his own and it connects against all the odds, and there's another bright throb of pain in his knuckles. The man staggers back and Hawke pulls another man away from Ashaad, and instantly gets another punch to the face.

 _Fuck,_ Hawke thinks, the pain throbbing, aching. Wiping at something dripping into his eye - blood, jesus – he sees Ashaad move, swinging one huge arm and taking one of his attackers off her feet.

He lifts his head and his eyes widen as he looks past Hawke. Hawke looks too and sees one of the attackers - a blonde woman - with a knife in her hand, lunging at Saemus with it.

Hawke's moving before he knows what he's doing, pushing his way past one of the men, and grabs the hand that holds the knife. She spins and glares at him, using his grip on her to throw him to the ground, where she kicks him in the stomach.

Shock, pain, he can't breathe – then she's kicking him, face, ribs, a burst of pain then another, so intense that the world goes grey. All he can do is stay on his hands and knees, gasping, until he hears a hoarse cry of _Saemus!_ from behind him.

Forcing his eyes open, he sees the woman stab at Saemus, catching his arm, and his coat sleeve instantly blooms red with blood. She pulls back to take another swing but Hawke manages to grab Saemus's belt to pull him to the floor and then throw himself protectively on top of him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for pain, but instead he gets a familiar voice yelling,

"Hold it right there!"

Aveline!

Hawke dares risk a glance, and sees Aveline standing like a trench-coated goddess a few feet away, armed guards from City Hall flanking her.

The blonde woman snarls something - definitely French - but drops her knife, and the others all lift their hands as step away from Ashaad, who's sitting up, though swaying and covered in blood.

"Bloody hell, Hawke," Aveline says, crouching by him, helping him off Saemus, whose breath is coming in hitching gasps. "What in god's name is going on?"

"Those people attached Ashaad," Hawke says, his mouth hurting, and he tastes copper. Blood is still dripping into his eye, and he feels slightly dizzy as he puts a hand to it, feeling the warm wetness. It hurts, too, it hurts _everywhere_. He looks around to see Ashaad still sitting up, pale and glassy eyed as one of the guards checks him. "Saemus ran over, I followed, then... This."

Aveline shakes her head and swears softly. "You bloody idiot! You could've been killed."

"If I hadn't helped, Ashaad would have been."

She swears again, apparently not placated by his words.

Two police cars, sirens blaring, pull up along with an ambulance. Ashaad is carefully put into it. He can't stand on his own and it takes two paramedics and two guards to get him into it. Saemus begs to go with him, but Aveline refuses, turning a serious gaze on him. 

"I'm sorry, but you'll only be in the way," she says. "You can ride with Hawke."

Hawke wants to say that he doesn't need to go to hospital but the pain and the blood everywhere kind of suggests he does. Despite feeling dazed, he suddenly remembers something very important. 

"Fenris," he says, and Aveline frowns at him.

"What?"

"I was supposed to be meeting Fenris."

"I think he'll understand, Hawke," Aveline says, and then barks orders to the police that have arrived on scene.

"No-" the sirens of a second ambulance drown out his next words. "Aveline - my phone's dead. Will you call him?"

"Hawke, are you kidding me? I have a crime scene here. These people are members of the Chantry, they've just attacked a Qunari-" Saemus gives a sob, and she checks herself. Hawke puts a comforting hand to Saemus's back, feels him shaking and gives him a worried look. What must he be feeling? Hawke tries to imagine how he would react to seeing Fenris beat up, but quickly backs away from the thought. "Besides, I don't have his number."

"Then let me use your phone-" He knows he's being selfish, not to mention ridiculous, but he can't stand Fenris up. He can't. After all they've been through, what if this was the last straw? Hawke tries to push away a paramedic and finds himself kitten weak. "Please, Aveline."

She rubs her eyes and then sighs. "If I call Merrill and ask her to tell him will you stop fussing and just _go to hospital?"_

"Yes."

"Fine," she says and as she gets her phone out, she glares at him, as angry as he has ever seen her. "But we will be having words, Hawke."

He nods and gets into the ambulance, where Saemus is already sitting, teary-eyed as a paramedic patches up his arm.

"It'll be okay," Hawke tells him as the ambulance races off, and then the paramedic pushes him down to the bed, turning a stern look on him. 

"Stay still, okay?"

The trip to the hospital is mostly Hawke starting to really feel all the points of pain everywhere on his body, and also the realisation that it was real, that it really happened. _Holy shit_. Hawke is not a fighter, he's never been a fighter. He's never in his life been in a real fight - he doesn't like arguments, never mind violence. He's been punched, really punched, one time in his life before this, when fourteen year old Carver was getting bullied by some eighteen year olds that should have known better. One of them punched him but the instant Hawke got pissed, they immediately backed down. Other than that weak haymaker by an idiot kid? Nothing.

Until now.

There's a first time for everything, and Hawke doesn't do things by halves.

When they arrive, guards from City Hall are already there to watch over Saemus, and he's led away from Hawke.

There are various tests that make Hawke think of nothing so much as hospital dramas, and an injection of something that makes the pain recede but makes everything fuzzy, that makes time pass in a strange treacle fashion.

He's sitting on a bed cordoned off by a curtain when it occurs to him how bloody everything is. His shirt, and the jacket folded up beside him, are beyond redemption. As for where his tie is, he doesn't have a clue. This was his good shirt, too. He's vaguely aware that his priorities are a little skewed here, but seriously. Grey with black pinstripe, fitted him perfectly. That was a good shirt. One of his best.

Hawke looks up at the sound of curtains being swept aside, and he blinks.

"Anders?"

It is Anders, in a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a grey tie. There's a lanyard and a stethoscope around his neck, and an ID badge on his belt. He looks very doctor-like, Hawke thinks dumbly. 

"Hawke," Anders says, and shakes his head before stepping up to pull Hawke into his arms. Hawke makes a choked noise as pain stabs through the painkiller fog. "When I heard your name I was so bloody scared. Gang warfare, Hawke? What the hell have you got yourself into now?"

"I was just protecting a friend. A friend of a friend. A boyfriend of a friend."

Anders pulls back to frown at him, and shakes his head. He grabs Hawke's chart.

"Broken rib, multiple contusions-" he puts it down with a sigh. "Honestly, Hawke," he says. "I don't know the details of what happened but just - don't do it again, alright?"

"I didn't plan on doing it this time."

Anders tells him to lie down and Hawke's foggy mind suggests he should say something witty to that, but doesn't tell him what. So he just does as he's told, and tries not to flinch when Anders stitches up the cut on his forehead.

When he's done, Hawke asks after Saemus and Ashaad. 

"The kid who came in with you is fine," Anders says as he snaps off his latex gloves and disposes of them. "The big guy is in worse shape, but he should be alright. And so should you."

"Then can I go home?" Hawke asks. The disinfectant smell is making him feel nauseous. "You know I hate hospitals."

"You should've thought about that before deciding to be a hero," Anders says drily, and sighs. "I'd prefer to keep you in but there's no real reason to. No concussion, no internal bleeding. Come on, then, I'll get someone to call you a taxi."

Hawke grabs the bottle of pills a previous doctor handed him and shoves them in his bag, which he notes is also covered in blood. How much blood has he lost? Is it all his?

Anders pulls open the curtains to reveal a large room, with lots of beds, some surrounded by curtains like Hawke's was. Others are empty, or filled with people sleeping. They head out into a corridor. Hawke's lips thin and how _hospital-y_ it all is. All he can think of is his dad, visiting him in a place like this and feeling so helpless, so lost, watching him fade away and not being able to do a damned thing to help him. 

Hawke _really_ hates hospitals.

When Anders pushes open another door into the waiting room, there's a sudden hum of noise. So many voices, but one of them is familiar. It's so unexpected that it doesn't click right away. The voice is slightly higher than normal, the words coming fast. Hawke looks up at the reception desk, just to confirm that it is who he thinks it is, because why would he be here?

"His name's Garrett Hawke," the voice says. "Please, just let me know if he's alright." 

It's Fenris, standing there, gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles are white.

The man behind the desk looks at him, both bored and slightly annoyed. "Are you family?"

"No, I - I'm-"

"Fenris?" Anders sounds exasperated.

Fenris looks up at him, but instantly ignores him when he sees Hawke. His eyes widen and then he practically runs over.

"Hawke, are you alright? I was so worried, when Aveline called and said you were hurt, I-" His voice breaks and he hugs Hawke tightly; he only just manages not to cry out at the pain of his broken rib.

"I'm okay. I mean - mostly," he says with a hiss of pain when Fenris squeezes him. "Broken rib," he gasps, and Fenris lets him go immediately.

"Sorry," he says, and lifts a hand to Hawke's side, then his face. He blinks rapidly and shakes his head. "God, Hawke, I-"

"I'm sorry," Hawke says. "I said I was going to stop giving you reasons to worry about me."

"Yes, you did," Fenris says, and touches Hawke's face again, worry all over his own. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. Anders was just about to arrange a taxi for me. I just want to go home and sleep."

"I'll come with you," Fenris says.

"You don't need to," Hawke starts, but then he's overridden from a surprising quarter.

"Maybe he should. I'd prefer someone make sure you get home okay," Anders says from just behind them.

Hawke doesn't have the energy to argue, so he lets Anders arrange a cab and then sits down by Fenris's side to wait. As the minutes pass, he still feels ever more foggy and fuzzy, but Fenris is holding his hand so things are better than they were. 

The journey home is mostly uneventful, and it's only when Hawke steps into the flat and looks in the mirror above his mantelpiece that the shock overrides the fog.

"Jesus," he says, and Fenris puts a hand to his back, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"It probably looks worse that it is. Let's get you cleaned up and-"

"I think - I think I'd prefer to just go to bed," Hawke says, and after a moment Fenris nods.

"Alright."

He takes Hawke's hand again, and leads him to the bedroom. He helps him out of the shirt, carefully pulling it away where the dried blood has stuck it to his skin and chest hair.

"Ow," Hawke says, and Fenris kisses his shoulder.

"Let me at least clean this up. Where are your towels?"

Hawke tells him and then lies down, and the world spins around him. As Fenris goes to the bathroom to get some water, he kicks off his trousers. He considers pulling on some pyjamas but in the end decides it's too much effort and pulls the sheets over his hips instead.

It would be weird, otherwise, to have Fenris see him almost-naked, especially after last time they were here, in Hawke's bedroom. It's weird enough as it is. 

It's hard to think about that, to properly process any of it. He's also vaguely happy that Fenris came to him in the hospital, and that he's here now, looking after him.

It means something - it means a _lot_ \- but he'll think about that later.

Now Fenris is back with a mixing bowl full of hot, soapy water.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he says, and Hawke lets his head fall to the side on the pillow and smiles at him.

"You're so nice, Fenris."

Fenris chuckles and then kisses him on the tip of his nose. "You'd do the same for me."

"Don't make me have to," Hawke says, and Fenris nods seriously.

"I'll do my best."

It feels nice having the warm cloth against his skin, and Fenris is being careful, so careful.

So nice that as the world grows even fuzzier and sleep creeps over him like a warm blanket, Hawke doesn't try to resist.

===

Pain.

Copper in his mouth.

Stiffness.

Hawke hasn't felt quite this bad in morning for a long time.

Reluctantly he pulls himself to full waking. Opening his eyes, he sees a bottle of pills on his nightstand, alongside an empty glass.

Groaning, he sits up slowly, and the movement makes his whole face ache, but even that's nothing in comparison to the screaming pain in his side or the way his head spins.

He has to take a moment or two of just sitting and just breathing, letting the pain blunt a little before he dares to stand.

Grabbing the pills and moving slowly, Hawke makes his way to the door, pushes it open-

And then sees Fenris on his sofa, a blanket pulled over him. The sound of the door opening wakes him and he blinks sleepily at Hawke before pushing up into a sitting position, hiding a yawn behind his hand.

Noting the pills in Hawke's hand he stands. "Let me get you some water," he says, and then points at the sofa. "Sit."

Hawke does, and then pulls the blanket over his legs when he realises that he's pretty much naked. These are not the circumstances in which he imagine being almost naked with Fenris again.

"I'm sorry I stayed without asking," Fenris says when he returns with a glass. "I just didn't want to leave you alone. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Hawke takes two pills, washes them down with water and then sits back.

"Not sure about okay." He goes to rub his eyes and then stops, feeling - something - on his face.

"I didn't clean the blood in your face last night," Fenris says. "I didn't want to wake you. Let me do it now."

"You don't have to."

"I want to," Fenris says softly, taking both of Hawke's hands and placing them in his lap. "Consider it payment for my overnight stay."

"You can stay whenever you want, Fenris."

He smiles then, and even in pain, it makes Hawke happy to see it. Fenris's smile will always make him happy.

"I hope next time will be in much happier circumstances."

They reconvene to the bathroom, since Hawke doesn't want blood all over his cream sofa. After putting the toilet seat down he sits, then watches as Fenris gets towels and facecloths, fills the sink and gets cotton wool and antiseptic from the cupboard.

"You look like you've done this before," Hawke says.

"I have," Fenris says with a shrug as he lays out his supplies on the side of the bath. "I did first aid for Danarius's men sometimes."

The reminder about Danarius leaves a bad taste in Hawke's mouth that has nothing to do with blood.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"What for?" Fenris asks as he dampens the facecloth in the sink. 

"That - that those things happened to you. That Danarius happened to you. I wish-"

"We'll talk about it later," Fenris says, and kisses the tip of his nose. When he pulls back he has a grim smile. "It's the only part of you not covered in blood," he explains. "So let's get you cleaned up."

After wringing out the facecloth, he kneels down between Hawke's legs and gently, so gently, starts to clean him up. It still hurts, but Hawke trusts him, completely. For his part, Fenris is entirely focused on his task.

When the facecloth is red with Hawke's blood, he tosses it into the bath and picks up another.

This one is less saturated when Fenris tosses it into the bath, and then he uses cotton wool to clean the rest of Hawke's face. With a damp towel he dabs at Hawke's hair and beard.

"You'll want to wash that properly at some point, but you look a lot better now."

"Yeah?"

Fenris helps him to his feet so that he can look in the mirror, and all Hawke can think is if he looks a lot better he must have looked bloody terrible before.

There's a little bit of fresh blood around ten bright-blue stitches that follow the line of his left eyebrow. His bottom lip is burst, red and tender right down the middle. The left eye is swollen and dark purple, the right cheek mottled blue and purplish red. There's a huge bruise over his right side, too, under his arm - his broken rib, from the woman's kick.

For a moment all he can do is look at his reflection, and it hits him all of a sudden what a stupid, stupid thing he did.

And he's absolutely certain that he'd do the same thing again.

"I hope Saemus and Ashaad are okay," Hawke says, gingerly touching his bruised face.

"Saemus is your assistant, isn't he?"

"Yeah, and Ashaad is his boyfriend. He's Qunari-" Hawke stops and glances down at him. "I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"Qunari? A gang, right? Where they the ones who attacked you?"

"No, that was the Chantry," Hawke says, figuring that he might as well go all in. "A French gang."

Fenris makes a noise and when Hawke looks down at him, his eyes are closed. "I thought – When Aveline said that it was gang-related- Intellectually I _knew_ it was so unlikely, but..."

"But what?"

"I thought it was Danarius. I thought that you were hurt and it was my fault-" he breaks off and puts a hand to his eyes. When he looks up again he kisses Hawke on the lips, and then pulls away just as quickly when he makes a pained sound. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just so happy you're alright. Mostly alright."

"It's not your fault. And even if it was Danarius, it still wouldn't be your fault."

Fenris is looking away, and Hawke wants to hold him tight, to kiss him. For now, though, all he can do is give a one-armed hug and say, "when my lip's healed, I am going to give you so many kisses, alright?"

"Alright," Fenris says, and then looks up with a smile. He kisses across Hawke's chest, over his shoulders, up his neck. Even with his everything hurting, it's incredibly hot. It's also making his head spin, but not in a good way.

Hawke gently pushes Fenris away, even as part of him screams _what are you doing, why are you stopping?_ "Let's, uh, pick this up when I'm better, okay?"

"It's a promise," Fenris says, and kisses his neck again. "I've already phoned Merrill and told her I'm not coming in until lunch time. I hate doing this to her on a Saturday but I wanted to make sure you were alright before I left. Anders said he'd be home at ten, so he can check up on you."

The two of them actually working together? Maybe Hawke should get hurt more often.

Or not.

"Thank you, Fenris. For looking after me. I can't tell you how much this means."

"I know you'd do the same for me. Besides, we _were_ supposed to have an - an unofficial date last night."

Hawke raises an eyebrow, or tries to – it's hard when there are stitches in the way. "I hope you're not counting the hospital as a date, unofficial or not."

Fenris laughs, and shakes his head. "Perhaps not. But I don't have to leave for about an hour – why don't I make breakfast, and that can be our non-date?"

"But you were coming here so that I could cook for you."

"We can do that another time. Let me look after you, Hawke."

Being looked after does sound awfully nice, especially when he feels so terrible. "Alright. Thank you. There's some eggs, tomatoes in the fridge. Cereal in the cupboard. Sausages and bread in the freezer. Make whatever you like."

"I get to show off my culinary skills, hmm? They're not much compared to yours, but I can make a mean cup of coffee."

"You make an incredible cup of coffee," Hawke corrects. "If you want a shower-"

"I'll get one at home before heading to work. If you happen to have a spare toothbrush I'd like to brush my teeth, though."

"Bottom drawer," Hawke says, pointing at the glossy white unit under the sink. Fenris pulls it open, and then looks back at Hawke.

"Fifteen toothbrushes? Are you some sort of connoisseur?"

Hawke laughs, and winces at how much it hurts his ribs. Damn it. "No, they were last year's birthday present from Uncle Gamlen. Apparently they were on offer for a fiver."

Looking down at the toothbrush collection, after some careful consideration, Fenris chooses a mint-green one. "Is this the same uncle that you mentioned before? The one who gambled away some of your inheritance?"

"The one and only."

"He sounds delightful."

Hawke would like to be able to say _he's not so bad_ or _he's a good man really_ but the closest he can get while still being honest is, "He's family."

Fenris looks down at the toothbrush in his hands, and when he glances up at Hawke again, he looks almost shy. "I can leave it here, for next time. If there'll be a next time."

Hawke looks at him and runs his fingers over his bangs. "I really hope so."

"We still need to talk," Fenris says quietly, and then pats his leg. "But that can wait until you're feeling better. Why don't you get some clothes on and I'll do my teeth and start breakfast."

Getting dressed sounds simpler than it is. Hawke ends up with the easiest outfit to put on with his hurts: sweatpants and a plaid shirt. They don't exactly go together but  they're comfortable and easy to put on. Besides, considering what his face looks like, there are bigger problems with his appearance than his outfit, and if Fenris doesn't mind, he doesn't mind.

By the time he's done, the flat is full of coffee and cooking smells. Hawke goes into the kitchen but Fenris shoos him into the living room and brings him a coffee.

"I put milk in it, but no sugar. Did you want some?"

"This is perfect," Hawke says, and smiles at Fenris, thinking, _Like you_. He manages not to say it, even if being looked after, being cooked for, being fussed over like this does make being hurt _much_ easier to deal with. 

Leaving him with his coffee, Fenris returns to the kitchen. Whatever he's making smells _amazing_. As does the coffee – it's the exact same stuff Hawke makes for himself at weekends, but somehow it's about fifty times nicer than anything he's ever managed. Fenris is a coffee genius. 

A few minutes later, Fenris reappears with two plates in his hands. He gives Hawke his first, then sits next to him on the sofa. 

"Spanish omelette," Fenris says. "My flatmate in Spain showed me how to cook this, so it should be at least somewhat authentic."

Hawke's not sure about that, but it's damn delicious. Even if he has to cut it up into tiny pieces so as not to bother his sore lip. 

"That was amazing, Fenris!" Hawke says after he has cleared the plates away and returned to Hawke's side. He's holding his hand, and frowning down at his bruised knuckles. "I'll have to make something even more amazing now, if I want to impress you."

Fenris looks up at him, green eyes shadowed. "You always impress me, Hawke," he says, and kisses him gently. "You're just so – so _good_."

"I try," Hawke says, and gives him a kiss in return. 

Fenris leans his forehead against Hawke's and sighs; Hawke feels it against his lips. Fenris is so warm by his side, so solid, so _here_. He wishes he could stay forever, but he knows he can't. 

"You better go if you're going home first," Hawke says.

After a long moment of staying exactly where he is, then putting a gentle hand to the back of Hawke's neck, Fenris sits up, reluctance written all over his face. "I should. You'll be okay?"

"I'll manage. And Anders should be home soon, anyway."

Fenris stands and then fusses over Hawke when he tries to see him to the door. "Don't be silly. I'll see myself out. I'll text you later, alright? Get some rest."

One last gentle kiss, and then Fenris is gone, leaving Hawke alone to nap on the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Kazechama,](http://kazechama.tumblr.com/) as it's their birthday! So many happy birthday wishes! *throws confetti* :3
> 
> And Happy New Year to everyone! Last year was not-great for me in a lot of ways, so here's hoping that this year is going to be better for all of us (and if 2015 was good for you, here's to an even BETTER year! :D)


	26. Chapter 26

After Fenris leaves, Hawke's sofa-nap lasts about an hour before there's a knock at the door. 

He opens his eyes groggily. The aches all over his body make sitting up sound like a very unwelcome prospect. There's another knock at the door, more urgent this time, and then the sound of a key in the lock. Anders, then. He's got Hawke's spare key, just as Hawke has his. 

Groaning, Hawke manages to force himself into a sitting position by the time the door opens, and he tries – very carefully – to stretch and try to work out some of the stiffness. Each movement makes him wince, but when he's done he does feel better. 

The door opens to reveal Anders, as Hawke suspected, looking both exhausted and concerned. The latter eases a little when he sees Hawke. 

“Thank god, when you didn't open the door-” He shakes his head and comes over with a sigh. “I knocked three times.”

“Sorry,” Hawke says as Anders sits down heavily by his side. “I was asleep.”

"I thought that might be it, but I was still worried." He looks at Hawke with a critical eye, and Hawke looks back, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, emphasised by how pale he is, even more than usual. But then, it's been about sixteen hours since he was at the hospital. If Anders has been at work this whole time, no wonder he's exhausted. "You look a lot better now that you've been cleaned up, but you should be in bed."

Hawke only just manages to bite back a _so should you_. Now is not the time to get into an argument about Anders working too much. "Fenris did it. The cleaning up, I mean. He was very gentle."

Anders frowns, but nods. "And how are you feeling? Headache, nausea? Vision problems?"

Hawke yawns, and instantly regrets it when it hurts his lip. "Headache. Tired. A bit dizzy when I sit up. Ribs hurt when I breathe."

With a _hmm_ Anders checks Hawke, simple checks, but he seems satisfied when he's done.

"You seem to be alright, all things considered. But you should rest."

"I _was_ resting," Hawke grumbles, but he summons a tired smile. He appreciates Anders's concern, and he's glad to have someone who cares so much about him. That person being a doctor is a special plus. 

"I'm so sorry for worrying about you," Anders says, and then, very gently, hugs Hawke. Hawke _hmms_ and leans in, resting the least-bruised side of his face against Anders's shoulder. He's warm, and smells slightly of anti-septic. Ander's hand goes to the back of his neck, fingers gently stroking his hair. It's nice, like being petted, comforting, and Hawke can feel sleep starting to encroach again. "Only you would do something like this."

"It was the right thing to do,” Hawke mumbles, blinking to try and stay awake. “You would have done it, too."

Anders doesn't say anything, just keeps holding Hawke. After a few moments Hawke has to lift his head before he falls asleep, and yawns. 

“Do you know how Saemus and Ashaad are?”

“Saemus was released not long after you were. The big guy was going into surgery as I left.”

Hawke frowns. “Surgery?”

“On his arm; it was badly broken. I don't know much more than that. But you should get back to bed. Unless you want something to eat?”

“Fenris made me breakfast.”

“Did he now,” Anders says, and he looks like he's trying not to be jealous, like he's fighting a frown and losing. “He stayed over, then?”

“He did,” Hawke says, unable to help himself. “And made me a Spanish omelette. It was delicious.”

“So are my frozen pizzas,” Anders says, then yawns. Pushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear, he stands, helping Hawke to his feet. “Come on. Bed.”

He leads Hawke to the bedroom, and Hawke is too tired to argue. Even the pain seems to fade under the weight of his tiredness. 

“You have to go to bed too,” Hawke says as he pulls off his shirt and lays it over the back of his desk chair. Anders doesn't answer right away, and when Hawke looks at him, he's frowning at Hawke's torso, at the dark watercolour bruises there. But then he shakes his head, as if trying to clear it of his concerns, and offers a crooked smile. 

“Is that an invitation?”

Hawke grins, shaking his head as he sits on the bed. “Would you believe I'm not in the mood? Even Fenris slept on the sofa.”

“At least he stayed this time.”

“He was worried about me.”

“Good. I'm still not sure I approve of this, not after how much he hurt you last time. But him showing up at the hospital like that – it shows he does care about you.” He sighs. “Still. I'll be watching him. If he hurts you again I take no responsibility for my actions.”

“I'll let him know,” Hawke says, and then his gaze falls on his bag. His phone. He should really check it – Aveline might have called and need a report, or have an update about Ashaad. He tries to push up out of bed but the instant he's on his feet his head spins and he has to sit down again. 

Anders is by his side instantly. “What is it?”

“I want to check my phone. Aveline might have called-”

“Then she can wait.”

“But-”

“I'm serious, Hawke. You need to rest. You should be fine, but pushing yourself is only going to make you heal more slowly.” When Hawke tries to stand again, Anders puts a restraining hand to his shoulder. Kitten-weak as he is, Hawke can't push him off. “If you want, I'll call Isabela and tell her what's happening. She can update Aveline and everyone else. And if Aveline needs to speak to you, I'll tell you later, when you wake up. I'll make dinner-” A pause. “I'll get us a take away for dinner, if you're feeling up to it.”

Hawke's still a little uneasy about not checking his phone, but Anders has mostly settled his mind; with the majority of his worries eased, sleep is smothering him again. 

“Alright,” he says, and squeezes Anders's hand. “I appreciate you, you know. Caring for me.”

“I do,” Anders says, and bends to kiss his forehead. “I really do. Now sleep, Hawke. I'm just upstairs if you need me.”

Hawke nods as he pulls the covers aside and gets into bed, and he's asleep almost before his head hits the pillow. 

===

By the time Tuesday comes around, Hawke is starting to feel better. 

He's sleeping less during the day, and something more like normal hours at night. His ribs still hurt and his face is tender, but in general he looks a lot worse that he feels. There are bruises everywhere, purple-blue, but at least the blue stitches above his eyebrow look kind of cool. 

Mostly, he's just been taking it easy. He's not been to work - he had a call from Mayor Dumar on Sunday, thanking him for protecting Saemus and telling him to take the week off, longer if he needed it. Hawke wasn't going to argue. So he's been watching a lot of TV, texting with Fenris and everyone else. Bethany came over last night, to bring him some feel-better Reese's Cups and give him a big hug. They watched Beauty and the Beast together – Hawke's been using his free time to have a Disney marathon, or more accurately a falling-asleep-during-Disney-movies marathon. Bethany cuddled up to him as they watched, and Hawke could tell how shaken she was about him getting hurt, especially since it was so similar to what happened to Carver. 

Now he's waiting for his mum to come round. 

She was in France visiting a friend, and only got back last night. A frantic phone call on Saturday nearly ended with her flying back early, but Hawke insisted that he was fine, and there was no need to cut her holiday short. Very reluctantly, she agreed, but she insisted on coming over to London to see him straight away. She even said she'd bring Sam. 

The flat's a bit untidy since he's not really been in the mood to clean – not to mention he's having trouble bending over – so he kicks the books under the table, puts the hoodies in the wash basket, drapes the blanket over the back of the sofa. He really can't bring himself to do the washing up, so he puts the dishes in as neat a pile as he can manage and puts the kettle on. 

As he spoons coffee into the cafetiere, he's hit by a pang of missing Fenris. The week should have begun with a ray of brightness in the form of Fenris and his masterful coffee-making, but instead it was spent sad and alone. 

Tragic. 

Letting the coffee brew, Hawke pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts Fenris. 

_**Hawke** _ _(11:20am)_  
_I'm really missing you and your coffee right now_

Maybe it's that he's still not feeling a hundred percent, or maybe he's finally relaxing a little, but he manages to send that without even a little anxiety. His phone buzzes less than a minute later. 

_**Fenris** _ _(11:21am)_  
_I miss you too. I'm not working, I could come over if you like?_

Yes, Hawke would like that very much, but if he did, he'd meet Mum, and Hawke's not ready for that yet. At all. 

_**Hawke** _ _(11:22am)_  
_Mum's on her way over with Sam. Says she's going to look after me. Otherwise I would love to_

_**Fenris** _ _(11:22am)_  
_Another time then. How are you feeling?_

Hawke pours the coffee and then after a moment's thought, settles on the sofa and phones Fenris instead. There's about half an hour until his mum gets here, and that's half an hour that he can listen to Fenris's incredibly sexy voice. 

“Hey,” Fenris says as he answers. Hawke thinks he sounds pleased, and smiles. 

“Hey.”

There's a pause. “It's so good to hear your voice, Hawke.”

“All I said was _hey.”_

“So you did. I suppose you must have said it in a very sexy voice. Or – maybe I've been worried about you.”

Hawke smiles, and takes a sip of his coffee. “Or both?”

“Or both. So, how are you?”

“Not bad; getting better. Still sleeping a lot.” He is, too, even if falling asleep on the sofa while he's still so stiff is a terrible idea. Last night it took him a full five minutes to sit up after an extended nap. “I'm having my stitches out on Friday.”

“What time? I could come with you if I'm not working.”

Hawke smiles. “Two. And don't worry about it. I can be brave.”

Fenris laughs. “Considering why you have those stitches? Evidently you can. I'm working until two so I can't get over then, but I could come after?”

“I'd like that,” Hawke says. He'd like that a lot. He'd been nervous that Fenris would be a little antsy about being around the flat, since that was where they slept together, where everything afterwards happened. But there's no tightness in his voice, no reluctance to his words. Maybe it was being here for the movie night, or maybe it was the impromptu sofa sleepover; whatever it was, he's glad. 

They spend the next half hour chatting about Fenris's day, about Hawke's Disney movie marathon, about other things. Fenris is ridiculously easy to talk to, and Hawke could listen to his voice for hours, and fully intends to. But then the intercom rings, and Hawke has to go. 

“Say hello to Sam for me,” Fenris says, and then pauses. “I'd say your mum, too, but, well. Since I've not met her, that would be a little odd. Wouldn't it?”

Hawke grins; it's a nice reminder that Fenris can be as awkward as he is. 

“I'll say it anyway,” he says, before they say their goodbyes. 

Hawke answers the door, and as soon as his mum's inside she gives him a tight hug and he gasps, the pain spiking violently.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she says, pulling back and taking his hands instead. She cups his cheek gently and looks at him, her gaze trailing over the bruises and cuts. She shakes her head and when her eyes meet his, they're shining. "Garrett, how could you do this? After what happened with Carver - what would I do if I lost you too?"

Hawke tries to speak around the sudden lump in his throat, but the thought of Carver makes him even more certain he did the right thing. If someone had jumped in to help, Carver might still be alive.

Swallowing, he says, "I had to help, Mum. Who knows what would have happened if I didn't?"

She closes her eyes for a moment, then nods. "I know, I know. I'm being selfish, but you're my only son now, Garrett. I-” Her voice breaks. “I couldn't bear to go through that again."

"I'm sorry," he says, and gives her a careful one-armed hug. "I never meant to worry you."

They stay like that a moment, and Hawke feels his t-shirt start to get damp as she cries. 

“Oh, Mum,” he says, and holds her a little tighter as his heart twists in his chest. “I really am sorry-”

“No, no,” she says, pulling back and wiping her eyes, retrieving a tissue from her handbag. “You did the right thing. I know you did. But the thought of not having you in my life-” She can't finish, and Hawke kisses the top of her head. 

“I'm here, Mum, and I'm not planning on going anywhere.”

“I know, darling. I know.” She dabs at her eyes. “Let me go and get Sam before he starts barking.”

Hawke puts the kettle on again as she goes, and takes a deep breath. He's already thought about this when Bethany was over, but it's even harder with his mum. She fell apart after Carver died, and seeing her like this reminds him of that a little too much. But he's not going anywhere, and neither is Bethany. Their little family is staying just how it is. If not getting bigger. 

Hawke's assailed by sudden visions of marriage and Fenris in a tux, and he feels a little dizzy. It's just a _little_ early to be thinking about weddings. Even if Fenris would look incredible. Maybe he can come up with another reason for it. Ballroom dancing?

A happy bark derails his train of thought, which is probably for the best. 

Turning with a grin, Hawke sees Sam in the doorway, his mum holding tightly to his collar to make sure he doesn't leap on Hawke.

“Sammy!” Hawke says, and after trying and failing to bend to hug him, settles for stroking his head instead. “Ahhh who's a good boy? You've not been here for a while, have you?”

He only came here once, in fact, and he looks huge in the flat, even bigger than normal. Sad as it makes him, Hawke has to accept that he could never have Sam or any big dog living here.

“Sit, Sam,” he says, and he does so with a whine. “I'll make some tea, Mum-”

“You sit,” she says. “I'm here to look after you, remember?”

He relents and goes over to the sofa, putting the blanket over the seat cushions. Grinning at Sam, he pats the now-protected sofa. 

“Come on, boy,” he says, and with another happy bark, Sam clambers onto the suddenly-small-seeming sofa. He puts his head on Hawke's lap and closes his eyes happily when Hawke strokes him. 

“You shouldn't let him on there, he'll think he can do it at home, now,” his mum says as she comes in. She has a tray in her hands, despite the fact that Hawke has no recollection of owning a tray. Upon it are two of the new mugs from the crockery collection he bought for his non-date with Fenris. She's also found his biscuit stash, and there's a selection on a plate. Custard creams, Jammy Dodgers, jaffa cakes – all the good stuff. 

Sitting beside him, she holds her tea in her hands and looks at him, her eyes still shadowed with worry. “How are you feeling, Garrett?”

“I'm fine, Mum. Really. I've had Fenris and Anders looking after me.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Who's Anders?”

“My upstairs neighbour. The doctor, remember?”

“Ah, yes.” She sips her tea, and then gives him a look. “Is he gay?”

 _Oh god._ Sometimes his mum is incredibly blunt, and he really doesn't need matchmaking right now. Especially not with Anders, who – well, he's been there and done that. He already knows it would never work between them, however much as they care for each other. And that's not even touching on Fenris. 

“He's bi, and I'm seeing Fenris, remember? Besides, Anders works a ridiculous amount. Sixteen hour days don't make for a good relationship.”

“Hmm,” she says and sits back, propping herself up with mismatched cushions. “So. Fenris. How's that going?”

Hawke eats a biscuit before answering. A good one, a chocolate one. He's already told her a very edited version of what happened when Fenris left – just that he stayed over, nothing else, but he's pretty sure she put it together. Since then, as he and Fenris have been putting the pieces together again, he hasn't told her much, other than that they're talking. Considering how complicated everything is, he hadn't wanted to say anything too soon. 

“It's going well. We're taking it very slowly, but I think we're getting somewhere.”

“But he looked after you?”

“He-” Hawke grins, his split lip grumbling at him, but the memory deserves a smile. “When Aveline told him I'd been hurt, he ran to the hospital to me. And then he brought me home and slept on the sofa to make sure I was alright. In the morning he cleaned me up,” he says, gesturing at his battered face. “And made breakfast.”

As he was speaking, a smile blossomed on his mum's face, and now she's smiling nearly as widely as he is. “Oh, Garrett, that sounds promising. More than promising! It sounds like he cares for you, a lot.”

“I think he does. I know I care about him. So much.”

She smiles at him. “I'm so glad. I know I tease you, but I just want you to be happy. Not that you need a man to be happy – but you are, aren't you?”

“I really am, Mum,” he says, and he can blame his honesty on the painkillers, but words tend to tumble out of his mouth at the best of times. “Just seeing him in the morning at the coffee shop sets the tone for the whole day. Even the tough times at work are more manageable because I've seen him. I've not felt like this about anyone in a long time. He says he needs to talk before we go on any more official dates, but I can't imagine anything that would change the way I feel about him.”

Sam whines, interrupting. No-one's been paying him much attention for a while, so Hawke strokes him, smiling down at him. 

“And you like him too, don't you?”

Sam barks in agreement. 

“I'm not sure I'm happy that Sam has met him and I haven't,” Mum says, but she's smiling; she pets Sam too. “But talking sounds like a good idea. He left for a reason, after all.”

“I know, I just – really like him,” Hawke finishes lamely. “He says hello, by the way. To both of you.”

“Does he, now? Then hello to him, too. Tell him I'm looking forward to meeting him.”

“Hmm,” Hawke says, and finishes his tea. His face is starting to ache again, and he gingerly touches his cheek, the stitches. 

“Stop that,” she says, and pulls his hand away. “Can I get your medicine for you?”

He nods, and lets her get his pills from the bedroom, and get a glass of water for him. She announces that she'll make lunch, too, and no amount of arguing from Hawke will change her mind. A quick look in the fridge leaves her disappointed, so she drives to the grocery store down the street, leaving Hawke cuddling on the sofa with Sam. 

He ends up falling asleep, and by the time he wakes, lunch is ready, along with lunches and dinners for the next few days that he can heat up in the microwave. 

When he's finished eating he's exhausted again, and although he tries to hide it, his mum isn't fooled. 

“You get yourself to bed, Garrett,” she says, and Hawke feels a pang of guilt when he realises she's done the washing up as well as cooking for him, and he can barely stay awake. 

“I'm alright,” he says, but she shakes her head. 

“No, you're not. And you won't be if you don't rest. Me and Sam are just glad to see that you're _mostly_ alright.”

He gives Sam a hug while they're still on the sofa, since he can't bend down with his broken rib, and then stands to say goodbye to his mum. She hugs him – more carefully this time – and then looks up at him. 

“Feel better soon,” she tells him. “And I hope things work out with Fenris. But with the way he makes you smile – I think it will.” 

“I hope so too,” Hawke says.

“And I want to meet him soon,” she says as she kisses his cheek.

“Only if you promise not to mention marriage or adoption.”

She grins at him, and pats his arm. “I make no such promises. Especially if I like him. I just want my children to be happy.”

“I am, Mum. Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Now go to bed, alright?”

Hawke nods, and once he's watched them drive away, he follows his mum's orders. 

===

Friday comes along after a string of days that are mostly spent sleeping or watching Disney movies. 

His mum made enough meals to last until today's lunch, and since Fenris is coming round later, Hawke decides he'll cook something. It won't be the incredible meal he'd planned last time – he still doesn't feel up to that – but he's thinking of his favourite tomato marscapone sauce. Easy but delicious. 

He feels a lot better now. Less headaches, less swelling, but the whole left side of his face is mottled purple and blue, the edges fading to a particularly unattractive shade of green as it heals. The cut with its bright blue stitches is covered with a nasty-looking scab. Not exactly how he'd prefer to look for Fenris, but there's not much he can do about it. 

He heads out to the GP to get his stitches removed, and in his opinion he's very brave. It hurts when it starts bleeding again despite the nurse's gentleness, and he buys himself some brownies from his favourite bakery on the way home to make himself feel better, as well as groceries for dinner.

When he gets home, though, he's startled to see Fenris sitting on the steps leading up to the front door. He's wearing grey jeans with a rip in the knee, and as Hawke gets closer, he can see a peek of tattoo there. He's struck by an urge to kiss it. No beanie today, just his hair, pale and soft, and Hawke wants to kiss that, too. He wants to kiss all of him. 

"Hello," he says. “You're early. Not that I'm complaining.”

"When I said I was seeing you, Merrill let me leave early,” he says, and lifts the commuter cup he's holding. “I brought you a three-shot hazelnut latte," he says, and Hawke grins.

"Made by my favourite barista?"

"For my favourite three-shot hazelnut latte guy," Fenris says, and they smile at each other. Hawke gets his keys out of his pocket and lets them into the building, barely glancing at the wall Fenris pushed him against that night. He's rather hoping that more kissing might happen today. His lip is still a little sore, but he would be very okay with some soft, sweet kisses. 

As they step into the flat, Hawke says, “I can make you a drink, but it won't be as good as the one you made for me, I'm afraid.”

“Regular coffee is fine. So how are you feeling?” Fenris asks as Hawke puts his shopping bag on the kitchen counter. “You just had your stitches out?”

“Yeah. And I'm feeling okay. Pretty good, actually.”

Fenris puts the commuter cup down on a kitchen counter, and then lifts a hand, hovering over Hawke's forehead, over the cut. His face is very close to Hawke's as he inspects it; he can feel Fenris's breath on his lips, warm and smelling faintly minty. He wants to kiss him. He could kiss him. Maybe he should. But then Fenris moves back, looking satisfied. 

"It looks like it'll heal nicely," he says. 

"It'll scar, though." Hawke puts the kettle on and picks up the commuter cup, taking a sip and sighing happily. It's a bit cool but it's delicious and it pleases Hawke to a ridiculous degree that Fenris brought this for him.

"Scars can be sexy," Fenris says with a smile, as he leans against the counter. "Especially ones gotten during heroic deeds."

"Heroic? Me?"

"You rescued Saemus and Ashaad. Probably saved their lives. I think that counts as heroic," he says, and then leans in to kiss Hawke at the corner of his mouth, very gently. 

The kettle boils and Hawke makes Fenris's coffee, and is very glad that he bought cream at the supermarket, until Fenris says that he drinks his coffee black. 

"I got brownies, if you fancy one with your coffee. And I thought I'd make dinner. If you wanted to stay, that is.”

Fenris looks at him, licks his lips, then looks away. “I'll have a brownie, thanks. But if you're feeling up to it, I thought maybe we could have our talk. I'd like to get it over with.” When Hawke doesn't say anything immediately, he adds, “If you're not well enough-”

“No, it's fine,” Hawke says. It's not that he's not well enough; it's just that he knows whatever Fenris has to say will be less than pleasant. He has some suspicions about what it might be, suspicions that he hopes aren't true. But his mum was right. If this is part of the reason that Fenris left, he needs to know. “Whatever you want to say.”

Fenris nods, sips his coffee again. “Alright. Then let's see how you feel after our talk, if you still want me to stay for dinner.”

“I honestly can't think of anything that would make me not want that, Fenris.”

“We'll see,” Fenris says, and bites his lip. 

“Fenris,” Hawke says, and lifts a hand to his chin. “I like you so much. You mean so much to me – you know that, right?”

“I-” Fenris looks up at him, and then closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he's looking at the floor, but he steps forward and puts his hands on Hawke's hips, rests his head against his chest. “You mean a lot to me, too. I was so scared when you were hurt, Hawke. I've not felt like that for a long time. And seeing you like that, in the hospital – don't do that again.”

“I'll try,” Hawke says, and wraps his arms around him, holding him close. Holding him like this feels so good. It feels so _right_. Whatever Fenris has to say to him, Hawke is sure it won't change the way he feels, he's as sure of that as he's ever been of anything. 

When Fenris looks up again his expression is guarded, and Hawke feels a flutter of panic that he's somehow done something wrong in the past ten seconds. 

“Let's talk,” Fenris says, picking up his mug. 

They go into the living room, and sit side by side on the sofa. Not too close; they're not touching. Fenris needs a little space, and Hawke is happy to give it to him. Whatever he needs to be comfortable. 

He opens the box of brownies and Fenris takes one, takes a bite and chews slowly. 

“It's good.”

“They're my favourites,” Hawke says, then backpeddles: “Apart from the ones at Deep Roads, of course.”

Fenris smiles at that. It's wintry, but it's a smile, and Hawke counts that as a win. 

He takes a sip of his coffee, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He's not looking at Hawke, focusing instead on a random patch of Hawke's carpet. He takes a breath and then begins.

"I told you about Danarius," he says, "But I didn't tell you everything. Being his bodyguard wasn't everything that he wanted from me in repayment for those hospital bills. He wanted to - he wanted me. In his bed." The words come fast, and though this is what Hawke had guessed at it, hearing it from Fenris makes it so much worse. He speaks quickly, nowhere near as detached as he had when he talked about the bodyguard stuff. He's breathing fast, and he's not comfortable with this, not at all, and Hawke aches for him.

"Fenris, you don't have to-"

"I do. I need to. I need you to know. So if we - if you-" He's talking with his hands, the way he does when he's upset. He seems to notice, because he shoves them in his pockets. "At first I felt I owed him. That's why I agreed. I wasn't attracted to him, but I suppose I was flattered that a rich older man might want me." He gives a humourless breath of a laugh, harsh, self-deprecating. "And after, like with the tattoos, it didn't matter if I wanted it or not. That's just what my life was."

Hawke wants to – he wants to break something. Preferably Danarius's face. To hear Fenris talk about this, to know that he's been through this – it makes him feel ill. 

"I'm not saying this because I want you to feel sorry for me-"

"Jesus, Fenris, it's not - I mean, I do feel sorry for you, what that son of a bitch did to you–“ Hawke's jaw clenches closed, and he has to take a deep breath before he can continue. “I hate him. I've never even met him, but I hate him for hurting you."

Fenris looks at him then, and lets out a long breath. Sipping at his coffee, he licks his lips. "I'm telling you this because that's why I left. And it's why I rushed things. I was trying to prove something."

"You don't need to prove anything to me."

"Not to you, to myself. I was trying to prove to myself that I was free of Danarius." He shakes his head, and his eyes are haunted. "I was a fool. After you and I slept together, I - I dreamt. A nightmare. About what he did to me." Fenris swallows and pauses for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. "And when I woke up, all that - anger, self-hatred, shame, all the things I felt when he- I felt it, as fresh as it ever was. And that's why I couldn't- I can't- I'm sorry, Hawke. If I'd known that I'd react that way, that I'd hurt you like that, I'd never have started this."

"Hey, hey," Hawke says gently and takes Fenris's hands, watching his face carefully for any signs that he should back away. "I'm glad we started this. Especially if we're still going somewhere with it. And yes, it hurt - but I understand. We can move on now. If you want to."

Fenris closes his eyes for a long moment, and he keeps them closed as he talks. "I don't know what I'll be comfortable with. The kissing was fine - more than fine. Wonderful. And I think maybe I could deal with some of the other things. I've only slept with women since, and I never reacted like that."

Hawke nods slowly. Okay. That's understandable, given Fenris's prior experience having sex with men. He has to push down a murderous urge aimed at Danarius, and forces himself to focus on the moment. 

“So we go slowly. See what you're okay with.”

“I know I'm okay with kissing,” he says, and smiles at Hawke, gaze dropping to Hawke's lips and lingering there. “I'd definitely like to do that a lot.”

“Me too.”

“And I liked sexting – thinking of you lying there, reading my texts and wanking as I-” He stops abruptly, and swallows, his cheeks a little pink. “I liked that very much.”

Hawke nods. “That was new for me, but I definitely liked that.”

“And then – well. Like you said. We'll go slowly. And... we'll see. I want you, Hawke.” He looks at him, and Hawke can _see_ the want in his eyes. He feels it in himself, too, a warmth in his belly spreading out through his body. “I want you so much. But I just – I don't know. I didn't expect to react like that. I don't know if I might again.” 

“We'll talk about things as we go. And honestly Fenris, if you decide that you don't want any of it, I think I'd be okay with it. I like sex but I like you much more. Sex isn't that important to me. Well, I mean - it _is_ important, but it's not essential. If you wanted to be with me but not sleep with me, I think - I think I'd be okay with that. Being with you is much more important than sex."

Fenris looks at him with a complicated, unreadable expression. "Really?" He asks, his voice soft. "If we were in a relationship - you could go the rest of your life without sex."

"I can't say for certain," Hawke says, honest. He's not had _that_ much experience with relationships, and no experience at all with things like this. All he knows is that he wants to be with Fenris, and he's willing to do whatever's necessary to make sure that Fenris is safe and happy. "But I'd give it a try. For you. For us."

Fenris kisses him, darting in and taking him by surprise. "Hawke," he says, still almost close enough to touch, his hand in Hawke's hair, his breath on his lips. "I don't - I don't know if _I_ could give up sex."

"You- If you want to sleep with other people, I might be - I might be okay with that," Hawke says slowly, all of this new territory for him. "I'm not - I don't-"

"That's not what I mean," Fenris says, shaking his head. "I enjoy it - and being with you was-" he gives a frustrated noise. "Incredible. And I don't - if I _don't_ , then Danarius wins."

"Forget Danarius. This isn't something you have to prove." Hawke touches Fenris's cheek, and smiles when he leans against his hand. "Don't push yourself, alright? If you want to do this - if you want to be with me-"

"I do," Fenris breathes, his eyes closed. "I do."

"Then we'll take thing slowly. Actually slowly this time. We'll find out what you're comfortable with. You're in the lead - but if I think you're pushing yourself too hard, I get to call for time out, alright?"

"Alright," Fenris says, and kisses him again. He's gentle, careful of Hawke's lip; his lips are soft, and his tongue is hot and wet as it brushes his upper lip. “If I'm in the lead – I'd really like to kiss you right now. Are you up for it? Or do you want to wait until you're feeling better?”

“I'm up for it,” Hawke says, putting his hand to Fenris's waist. “My rib, though.”

“I can be careful,” Fenris says, and looks seriously at him, brushing his fingers over Hawke's hair, his cheek, his beard. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?”

“I will,” Hawke says, and when Fenris kisses him again, he lifts a hand to the back of his head, his fingers gently curling in his soft hair. 

This is perfect: Fenris's lips against his, tasting of coffee and brownies; his tongue sliding over his top lip, pressing into his mouth. The warmth of his body so close, his waist slim and hard under Hawke's hand. He wants to climb on top of Fenris, or Fenris to climb on top of him, but that's beyond his physical capabilities at the minute. For now, kissing is enough. More than enough, oh god, Fenris's tongue stroking against his is incredible. Hawke shifts, tilting his head, but the movement makes pain spear through him and he pulls back with a hiss. Fenris touches his shoulder, looking concerned. He's breathily heavily – they both are. 

“What's wrong?”

“Sorry,” Hawke says, wincing and putting a hand to his side. “It's just – my ribs.”

“Don't apologise. I know how much broken ribs hurt,” Fenris says, and then kisses Hawke again, very gently. Hawke tries not to think about why Fenris would know that. “Why don't I go and make us some coffee and you rest for a minute?”

As he goes, Hawke groans, letting his head fall to the back of the sofa. That was so good – _so good_. And they had to stop because of him. 

When Fenris returns with coffee, he sits, tucking his legs under himself, and breaking the last brownie in half so that they can share it. 

“I was thinking of going to the British Museum next week,” he says. “Probably Sunday. I wanted to get some research done for my novel – Varric's made a few suggestion for my next draft, and I thought I'd go get some inspiration. Want to come with me?”

“Yes,” Hawke says immediately, so fast that it makes Fenris smile. 

“We could get something to eat after – maybe afternoon tea? I have a friend that runs a place near Regent's Park.”

“The British Museum and then afternoon tea? That sounds like pretty much the perfect date.” Hawke pauses. “Or non-date?” He lets the question hang, hoping but not expecting. 

“Date,” Fenris says softly. “An official date. If you want it to be.”

“You know I do.”

Fenris hides his smile behind his cup of coffee. “An official date. That sounds good.”

“Really good,” Hawke agrees, and leans in, pausing when his lips are an inch or so from Fenris's. “Ah – may I?”

“You may,” Fenris says, and Hawke kisses him, trying not to do anything to jar his ribs. They still ache, and he has to sit back, but they're both still smiling at each other. 

There's still an undercurrent of anger and horror over what Fenris told him about Danarius, but that's diluted by happiness. That Fenris trusted him enough to tell him. That they kissed. That despite everything Fenris has been though, he's giving Hawke a chance. 

Fenris does stay for dinner, and he praises Hawke's cooking, makes him promise to make it for him again. He stays late enough that he misses the last train, and ends up calling a taxi. There's more gentle kissing and hugging, and when Hawke goes to bed that night, it's with a smile. 

He and Fenris are back to official dating, and all is right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's super late but I was determined to get back to my Sunday update schedule xD Sorry I haven't replied to your comments for the last few chapters - I will shortly, but just remember that I love them and I love you <3 Thank you so much for all of your support!


	27. Chapter 27

Hawke goes back to work on Monday.

He's still feeling exhausted but he wants to go in for the morning at least. He made the mistake of checking his emails the night before, and at least some of those three hundred emails need addressing, especially since Saemus hasn't been in either. There are about ten from Orsino about Meredith, and he regrets not checking that last email before he left work on Friday. God only knows what's happened now.

Tired as he is, he steps into Deep Roads with a smile on his face. He still has a lot to think about when it comes to their relationship, but just seeing Fenris behind the counter fills him with warmth and makes him smile, an instinctive reaction. Fenris smiles back, and Hawke thinks it is just as instinctive.

There's a queue, so Hawke takes the opportunity to watch Fenris as he works, admire the grace with which he moves and the focus with which he prepares coffee. Is it weird that Hawke finds it incredibly hot? Probably. But he does. Part of it is down to the fact that Fenris has his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, so Hawke can see the muscles of his forearms move as he works – he can't seem to pull his gaze away. It's nice. Very nice. The fact that he's wearing the red cuff is nice, too. 

Finally he's at the front of the queue, and he receives an up-close Fenris smile. 

"Good morning, Hawke," he says, grabbing a large take-out cup without needing to ask. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad. Tired, but-"

"Hawke!" Merrill cries, and when Hawke looks up she's standing in the doorway to the back office, her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide. She scurries over and puts her hands on his arms, touches his face, gentle as butterfly kisses. "Oh, Hawke. When Aveline called and said you'd been hurt I was so afraid, and look at you. You poor thing!"

"I'm alright, Merrill,” Hawke says, amused by the annoyed tutting of the person in the queue behind him, touched by her worry. He smiles at her. “And I know you've been worried, you texted me nearly as often as Fenris did."

"I won't apologise for worrying about my friends. But your coffee is free today, and any food you'd like. A hero's discount," she adds.

Hawke grins. Fenris called him that, too; he could get used to it. "That's very kind, but you don't have to."

"I want to. Saemus is my friend too, remember?"

"Thank you, Merrill."

She nods, looking very serious, and then gives him his second-ever Merrill hug - which would be nice if she didn't squeeze and make his ribs scream.

She lets go when he gasps and apologises, telling him to take two pastries, one for Saemus too.

When she goes to get his pastries of choice, Fenris hands over his coffee, and waves him away when he tries to pay.

"As I was saying - how are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, but tired," Hawke says. "Pretty sure I'll crash as soon as I get home."

“Make sure you get the sleep if you need it,” he says as Merrill hands him his free pastries, then she takes the order of the next person in the queue so they can talk a little longer. “Is there anything I can do?”

Hawke's very tempted to ask him to come around for dinner, but no. He's almost certain he's going to fall asleep the instant he gets home; if not actually asleep, he's certain to be zombified all evening. 

“I'll just have an early night, I think. Bed at seven, all very rock and roll.”

“If you do need anything, just let me know.”

Hawke smiles and wishes he could kiss Fenris, but the counter between them and the growing queue behind him argue against it. 

Instead he goes to work, sipping his coffee as he walks over the bridge, closing his eyes in enjoyment, and then almost walks into a fellow commuter. Even with that minor mishap, today is still off to a good start. 

When he steps into his office and sees Saemus sat at his desk, Hawke's smile widens. It's so good to know he's okay. He doesn't look quite his usual self, which is understandable; his hair isn't styled, his clothes drabber than usual. But though he looks tired, he looks relaxed; Hawke assumes that's a good omen for Ashaad's fate.

"Good morning," Hawke says as he steps into the office, and Saemus stands up, smiling and giving him an awkward little half-bow.

"Good morning Hawke. I can't thank you enough. You saved me, and Ashaad, and-" He shakes his head, and lets out a deep breath, his shoulders rounding. He stares blankly at the huge pile of unopened post on his desk and picks up the top envelope, for the sake of something to fidget with. "I don't know what else to say. I still can't believe that really happened. It all seems so - dramatic."

"I know what you mean," Hawke says, unlocking his office door. "It still doesn't seem real. But how are you feeling?"

Saemus shrugs, and follows Hawke, standing in the doorway of his office. "Alright. My arm hurts sometimes - I had stitches. But Ashaad is home now, I've been staying over to look after him."

Hawke raises an eyebrow as he puts his coffee on the desk. He leans against it and gazes at Saemus. He's glad to hear that Ashaad is alright, but there are going to be all kinds of consequences for Saemus, not least the mayor's reaction. 

"So – I'm guessing your dad knows about you two?"

A pained look passes over Saemus's face, and his eyes close for a long moment before he nods. "He's - not happy. In a way, it's almost good that he found out like this. He's so happy I'm alright that it's diluted his anger about Ashaad." He shrugs, and Hawke is sure there's more there behind Saemus's thinned lips. He knows Mayor Dumar well enough that however grateful he is that his son is alright, he will still have plenty to say on the matter of Saemus being in a relationship with a male gang member. 

But before Hawke can decide whether or not to ask any more questions, Saemus's expression becomes determined. "It doesn't matter what he thinks though. Ashaad means everything to me. This has proven that."

Hawke nods. "But your dad is just worried about you, you know that, right? You care about Ashaad, but that doesn't mean that it isn't dangerous to be with him. He's in a gang, Saemus."

Eyes narrowing, Saemus frowns at him. "And if Fenris was in a gang, would that make you care any less about him?"

He's got Hawke there.

“No. It wouldn't.” It hasn't. It doesn't. “And I'm not suggesting that you break up with him or anything like that. It's clear that you care about each other. I'm just saying – be careful.”

“How can I not, with my dad having his men follow me around all the time?” Saemus sighs, and shakes his head. “You're right, I know you are, but it's difficult.”

Before he can go on, Aveline steps into the room, just behind Saemus. He glances behind him when he hears her footsteps, then his eyes widen. He gives her a terse nod in greeting before darting to his desk, and Hawke raises an eyebrow at the whole thing. Seamus has always been wary of Aveline but he's never had that reaction before. Hawke guesses she's already questioned him about what happened, and that it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience. Since she's here to question _him_ , he hopes that his own experience might be a little better. 

“Hello, Hawke,” she says, and he notices that Donnic is by her side, a file in his hands. Hawke tries, very hard, to wrestle his grin into an acceptable smile of greeting. From Aveline's scowl, he guesses he hasn't managed very well. 

“Aveline, Donnic,” Hawke says, and finishes off his coffee before saying, “Shall we?”

They head to one of the nondescript boardrooms on the fifth floor. Most of them have views of the river, but not this one. As Hawke opens the blinds, a city view is revealed. Not nearly so nice, but what little sunlight penetrates the grey clouds cheers the place up a bit. 

Aveline and Donnic are already helping themselves to tea and coffee, and there are even some biscuits left over from a previous meeting. Once they're done Hawke gets a tea – after a Fenris coffee, this Nespresso stuff is nothing but a disappointment – and a small packet of shortbread.

They sit at the table and Donnic gets out a notebook. This time, Hawke has to cover his grin with his hand. Aveline is trying so very hard to be professional. She's sitting perfectly upright, hands folded on the table in front of her. Her shoulders are incredibly tight, and her back is ramrod straight. Even if he didn't already know that there was something going on here, he would with her reaction. As for what Donnic thinks, Hawke can't even begin to guess. 

"I've already questioned Ashaad and Saemus," she says, bringing him back to the matter at hand. "But I'd like your official report as well."

Hawke nods and dips his biscuit into his tea. He eats it before answering in an attempt to get serious. "To be perfectly honest I don't know what I can tell you. Everything happened so fast."

"Just the facts, Hawke. Tell me what happened."

He thinks back on – god, was it really just a week ago? "I was leaving work with Saemus, who said he and Ashaad were celebrating their six month anniversary. When we stepped outside we saw some people attacking him."

"How many people?"

Hawke thinks. "Six, maybe."

"And what were they doing?"

"Punching him, kicking him. There were no weapons that I could see until the blonde woman-"

"One thing at a time, Hawke.” Donnic is furiously making notes as they talk. “Let's go back to when you first saw Ashaad getting attacked."

Aveline is very thorough, getting everything from him. He's not sure how helpful it is; after all, Aveline saw at least some of it herself and there are cameras all over City Hall. They must have multiple-angle CCTV footage, and he's sure some of the people watching the fight took video on their phones. When he points that out, she says,

"That's true, but we still have to get as much information as we can. And you're a little more objective than either Ashaad or Saemus were.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Ashaad started spouting the Qun at us, and Saemus was so angry. I understand, but it was less than helpful when he started a tirade about unncessary force being used by police at protests.”

“But you've arrested the people who attacked Ashaad, right?”

"We have, but the Chantry have good lawyers." She taps the table with her finger. "We're getting all the evidence we can, and I hope it's enough."

Hawke hopes so, too. He's been so run-down and sleepy while he's been recuperating that it didn't even cross his mind that this would be anything but an open and shut case. But now that he thinks about it, even if it _was_ that simple, those weren't all of the Chantry, were they? If they wanted to cause more trouble, there's probably plenty more of them to do it. 

“But they won't attack again, will they? It's not even like Ashaad is a high-ranking member of the Qunari.”

“No. From what we can tell, they knew about him and Saemus, and figured it would send a message – not only to the Qunari but the mayor himself. The Chantry are strong, and not to be messed with.”

“How lovely.”

“Exactly. For what it's worth – I don't think they will attack again. But be careful, Hawke.”

“I'll keep an eye on Saemus-”

She shakes her head and leans forward, her expression serious. “No, for yourself. I don't _think_ they'll retaliate for your part in it, but still. Be careful. If you see anyone following you or anything suspicious, let me know straight away.”

Hawke looks at her, his mouth open. “Oh,” he manages. He hadn't even thought of that, about the possibility of there being repercussions for him, too. That Aveline doesn't think it will happen is some comfort, but still. He doesn't think this is something he's going to tell his mum any time soon. “Thanks, Aveline.”

They wrap up the discussion, and then Donnic reminds Aveline that he has a meeting back at the office. 

“Very well,” Aveline says. Her shoulders are still stiff, and her expression is stern, even for her. “You'd better go.” Hawke winces at how abrupt she sounds. 

Donnic nods and smiles at her, apparently oblivious to her strange, stiff attitude. "I'll see you at the station, Superintendent," Donnic says, and nods at Hawke. “Good to see you again.”

They watch him go, and Hawke can't help himself. He looks sideways at her, and she avoids looking at him. 

"So," Hawke says, in a casual tone. "Donnic's a handsome bloke, hmm?"

"Don't, Hawke."

"I'm just saying-"

"Don't say," Aveline advises, giving him a narrow-eyed look. He grins at her in response and counts himself lucky that she doesn't punch him.

"I'm just saying," he says again, more softly this time. "If you want help with anything, you know I'm here."

Her expression softens and so do her shoulders. She looks up, at the door Donnic just went through "I know. Thank you, Hawke. I may take you up on that offer. I haven't managed anything at all since the Copper Marigolds incident."

That was a while ago. But considering that her next move might have been to send him something even worse, perhaps it's for the best. "But you still like him?"

She sighs, but there's a softness in her eyes when she says, "So much, Hawke." 

Hawke smiles; he's not seen her look like that for a long time. “Alright,” he says. “When I'm feeling better, in a week or so, we'll come up with a plan. Maybe I'll help fight off the bad guys to give you two more time together."

She gives a very pointed look at his bruises. "I think you've done enough fighting off bad guys."

He grins and nods. "You might be right. I'll think of something."

“I hope you do, because I'm making a terrible mess of this.”

“If worst comes to worst, we'll ask Isabela. She'll have some ideas.”

The glare she gives him could set buildings on fire. “Last time I asked for her advice, she suggested I let him catch me in my office wearing nothing but lingerie.”

Hawke has to clench his jaw against a laugh, and instead schools his expression into something thoughtful. “Hmm, that could work-”

_”Hawke!”_

This time he doesn't bother holding back his laughter, and he chuckles as he stands up. “No lingerie then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he says with a chuckle as he heads down to his office to face his inbox.

===

It's finally Sunday. 

Hawke's been looking forward to today all week. His and Fenris's first real, official date after their break. And not just a date, a museum-and-afternoon-tea date, which sounds utterly amazing. 

As Hawke showers into the morning, the warm water pouring over his body, he thinks about Fenris. Not that that's anything new. Ever since they met, he's thought about Fenris an awful lot. But lately, with things being so complicated, with what Fenris told him, not all of them have been pleasant. Not about Fenris himself – those thoughts are always good. About what Danarius did to him. It makes him feel ragey, a feeling he doesn't like, that doesn't feel like it belongs to him. 

Fenris - _God_ \- 

Hawke forces his thoughts away from Danarius. He can't do anything about that, about what he did to Fenris in the past, but he _can_ make Fenris happy in the future, and he'll do everything he can to make sure he does. 

But how best to do that? There's still so much to think about. They're having an official date, but he doesn't really know where they stand. They've talked about it and discussed some options but Hawke isn't sure about any of them.

Option A is a chaste relationship. Could Hawke be with Fenris without sex? He's almost certain he could. Sex has never been a _hugely_ important part of a relationship for him, and he's happily gone months without; over a year at one point. He cared about Fenris so much before they had sex, and the act didn't change anything on that front. So if Fenris says that he wants nothing more than kissing? Hawke thinks he's okay with that.

Option B, though, being together but Fenris sleeping with other people – what about that? Hawke bites his lip as massages shampoo into his hair. It's so deep into unknown territory that he's not sure. He's not the jealous type, but this goes beyond anything in his experience. He knows that other people, like Bull, have that kind of relationship and it works for them. But he's not sure it would for him. He'd try, for Fenris, but he doesn't feel any certainty about it. 

More options might open up as they go. Fenris hasn't said anything for sure. They'll explore, slowly, talk about it. 

As for what Hawke wants – yeah, he does want Fenris. So much. He can't help but remember what it was like to be with him – the feel of Fenris's cock in his mouth, being inside him, _fuck_. Yes, he would definitely like that again. But he understands if he can't have it. Maybe if Fenris doesn't want to go all the way, but would be happy with blow jobs and hand jobs – that could work. Or if Fenris doesn't want to bottom again, but would be up for fucking Hawke then _fuck yes_ Hawke would agree to that. 

Biting his lip, he looks down at his hardening cock. 

“I'm trying to have serious thoughts here,” he says to it. With things so up in the air with Fenris, it feels impolite to wank while thinking about him, and he sure as hell couldn't think of anything else. 

Maybe later, after their date.

Doing his best to ignore his hard-on, he finishes washing and then gets out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he dries his hair then looks in the mirror to inspect his reflection. 

The bruising on his face is almost completely faded. There are still a few faded yellow spots here and there, but he can only see them because he knows where they are. The cut above his eyebrow is still pink, but it's healing nicely. On Thursday morning, Fenris smiled and said, _I definitely like that scar,_ and Hawke had been pleased all day. When Isabela called in to see him on her way to the Hanged Man, she had announced it rakish and pirate-like, and that was nice, too. 

The bruise on his ribs is fading more slowly, but there's a lot less pain now. He mostly has the full range of movement back, with only the occasional twinge. Only once, yesterday, had there been anything major when he overdid himself trying to clean up the flat, and he had to take one of the painkillers the doctor gave to him. In general, though, he's definitely on the mend. 

He goes into his bedroom, where his outfit is slung over the back of his desk chair. He chose it last night, to take off a little pressure. Though as it happens, Hawke isn't feeling any. It's a little surprising. Considering that it's their – what? Does this count as a second first date? Or is it just their fourth date? Either way, Hawke had expected to be nervous. But he isn't – he's mostly excited to see Fenris, and relieved that their relationship is a go – a slow-go, but still a go – once more. 

Maybe it's that he's had a lot on his mind, with the thoughts about open relationships and whatnot. No time for anxiety about the little things when he's had bigger things to worry obsessively about. 

He dresses, trying not to think about it. Hours of circular thinking haven't helped him make a decision, other than that he's willing to try things, but he can't say for certain what he'll be comfortable with until he tries it. More thinking isn't going to help. 

His outfit is simple: black jeans – not _those_ ones – with a grey t-shirt, and a plaid shirt over the top. Since it's April the weather is finally warming up enough that he's fine with just his beat-up leather jacket over the top. With the scar, he imagines that he looks like some badass biker.

Well, maybe. 

After dressing he makes a coffee and a sandwich for lunch, then slowly makes his way over for the date.

He gets off the tube at Holborn and walks over. It's a nice day, blue skies with fluffy clouds, and he's pleasantly warm in his leather jacket. The streets aren't too busy despite it being the weekend. Since he's early he takes his time. It's been mostly grey and dismal for weeks so it's a pleasant change to feel the warmth of the sun on his face.

When he arrives at the museum it gets a little busier. As he steps through the gates into the museum gardens, there are lots of people milling around. He peers around to try and find Fenris, but it's still ten minutes before they agreed to meet. When he can't see him, he finds an empty bit of the steps and sits down, texting to let him know where he is. It gives him time for a bit of people watching.

Couples, people on their own, a few tour groups – he overhears a Russian tour guide as they pass, his ears perking up as he recognises a few words and makes a mental note to start taking classes or something to try and revive his language skills. That's something he's been thinking about lately, possibly as a result of dating someone who can speak so many languages. But if the knowledge is kicking around in his brain somewhere, he'd like to resurrect it. 

Fenris turns up five minutes later, all in black and looking gorgeous. Hawke grins to see him.

“Hello, handsome,” he says, and is delighted when Fenris looks away, his cheeks splashed with pink. He looks back, smiles. 

“I could say the same to you,” he says, and offers his hand to help Hawke to his feet. Hawke takes it, and doesn't let go when he's standing. 

Hawke looks down at him and then pulls him into a hug - after all, most of their other dates started with hugs and that's a tradition he means to keep going. 

Fenris leans into him, arms going gingerly around his waist. 

“You don't have to be quite so careful with me now,” Hawke says. “I'm less fragile.” 

“You say that,” Fenris says and looks up at him with a smile. He looks relaxed, and happy, and it pleases Hawke so much to see him look like this. No worries, no nervousness or doubt. He looks like he is exactly where he wants to be. Which is good, because Hawke feels exactly the same way. 

Hawke is still smiling – does he ever stop when he's in the midst of a Fenris hug? – and runs a hand through Fenris's hair, enjoying the contrast between the long and shorter bits. 

“It's getting longer,” he says, and Fenris smirks up at him. 

“Yes, hair has a tendency to do that.” 

“Cheeky,” he says, and kisses his forehead, right where the tattoo is. Fenris gives a deeply satisfied sound, so Hawke does it again. “Are you going to keep the style?”

“I think so, for now at least. I'm enjoying it. Especially when you have your hands in it.” 

“Oh? I'll keep that in mind.”

Still hand in hand, they step inside, and just seeing the atrium makes Hawke smile. He really loves this place. The huge, high curved ceiling is made from glass, making the whole space incredibly bright. There are antiquities dotted here and there around the edges of the room, and in the centre is the reading room and a gift shop that Hawke always, always buys something from, even if it's just a pencil that writes in five colours at the same time – a perfectly reasonable thing for a thirty-year-old man to buy himself. 

Hawke turns to Fenris. "Is there anything in particular you want to look at?"

"The Egyptian stuff. To start with, anyway. One of the cultures in my story is loosely based on Ancient Egypt so I wanted to get a - a feel for it."

Hawke nods. The Egyptian collection spans lots of rooms over the museum. Hawke's been to all of them many times, gawking at the sarcophagi, the jewellery, and especially the immense rooms filled with huge columns, like a forest where the trees have hieroglyphs carved into the barks. 

One of the rooms is just off the atrium, so they step into it and come face to face with the Rosetta Stone. They stop in front of it, and Fenris tilts his head back, looking at it.

"I've never been to Egypt," Fenris says. "My grandmother was Egyptian," he starts, and then stops, looking away with a smile. 

“What is it?”

“What I said–“ Fenris stops, looks up at Hawke with a grin. “It reminded me of that scene from _The Mummy.”_

Hawke instantly knows what he's talking about, because he's at least as big of a dork as Fenris is. “Doesn't that scene end with her kissing O'Connell?”

“That scene most definitely ends with her _not_ kissing him. But this one will,” Fenris says, and then startles Hawke, in a good way, by taking his jacket lapels and pulling him in for a kiss. It's brief, and sweet, and Fenris is smirking when he pulls back. “Anyway. As I was saying. My grandmother was Egyptian, but I've never been there. I keep thinking I should.”

Hawke's still grinning about the kiss, and he stares at the Stone as though it can help him stop feeling so giddy. It doesn't. "I feel the same about Russia - but then again, you've travelled a lot more than I have."

"True. Maybe one day we can go together."

Hawke looks at him, and finds him looking back with a small, easy smile. It does not help with the quest to feel not-giddy. Fenris is thinking about them going travelling together - about their future together. It fills Hawke with happiness and hope. 

As they walk around, sometimes Fenris will pause in front of something and gaze at it for a while. He doesn't make notes or sketches, nothing like that. Nor does he read the little information plaques. Hawke does, though. He likes knowing where things come from, and how old they are, even if he can't really process it. Like, this thing has been around for four thousand years? It's incredible.

They don't talk much; Hawke doesn't want to intrude on Fenris's thought-process. Improving his novel is more important than whatever nonsense Hawke might say. 

When they're done winding their way around the Egyptian collections, Fenris looks thoughtful.

"Did you get everything you need?" Asks Hawke, and Fenris nods.

"I did. I've got some good ideas. Is there anything you want to see?"

Hawke shrugs. "Not really. I like everything"

"Let's just have a wander then."

They walk, and talk about what they're looking at, about this and that, light subjects, easy subjects, but the things they've no doubt both been thinking about haunt them like shadows, never far from Hawke's thoughts. 

They end up in the Japanese collection, a room in a top corner of the museum. There's a library-like quiet; there are few others here, most of whom are in the top section of the room, where there's a section about manga. 

Hawke and Fenris pause before the replica tea house, and when Hawke looks at Fenris, he has a thoughtful look on his face. 

"I've been thinking about what we were talking about," Fenris says quietly, looking at the neat teapot and cups laid out inside. "About - us. About what you said about possibly having a - an open relationship."

Hawke's heart leaps a little, startled that Fenris wants to talk about this here. This is so not the place for this discussion. But then again, why not? There are few people to overhear them, and depending on how it goes, it might be better to talk about it in public. Somewhere neutral, give them both a chance to escape if they need it. Not that Hawke's expecting it to come to that, not to anywhere near that. But still; it's good to have the opportunity. 

"So have I."

"I've been thinking, and I don't want that," Fenris says, and Hawke is surprised by the amount of relief he feels. When he breathes out he feels his whole body relaxing, so much that some of the pain he'd been harbouring melts away. Fenris looks at him steadily, green eyes on his, and says with certainty, "I want _you_."

They gaze at each other for a moment, then Fenris walks away from the tea house and along a wall lined with cabinets holding beautiful items - jewellery and small statues. Hawke watches him go for a moment, still feeling slightly breathless at Fenris's confession, at the _honesty_ of it. Then he follows him, catching up to him in front of an ukiyo-e picture. 

"I tried to picture myself with someone else while I'm - while I'm with you,” Fenris says, his voice quiet. “And I couldn't. I don't want to be with anyone else."

"I have to say, I'm actually a little glad. I would've given it a try if it would have made you happy, but I'm not sure how happy _I_ would be."

Fenris nods. “The thing is - I really do want you, Hawke. I just - I want you so much. I just don't know how that's going to work out. But I know one thing."

"Oh?"

Fenris looks at him and gives a mischievous grin. "I know that I want to make you come."

Holy shit. 

Just - _fuck_. 

Suddenly feeling hot, his cock stirring, Hawke swallows. He manages a smile. "What, here? Now?"

"Not _right_ now - but soon."

"That sounds very good to me, Fenris - as long as I can return the favour."

"I think that can be arranged," Fenris says with a smile, and takes both Hawke's hands in his and kisses him, sweetly at first, quickly getting hotter until a woman's laughter behind them reminds them that they're in public. 

Fenris pulls back, licking his lips, and Hawke's eyes follow the movement. He's more than a little hard now, so he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over his arm as oh-so-subtle camoflague. Fenris doesn't miss it, the hunger Hawke feels reflected in Fenris's eyes. 

“Soon,” Fenris says again, with more certainty, more heat, and all Hawke can do is nod. 

Now that they've scandalised the museum patrons, they go to the afternoon tea place. Fenris's friend is nice, though very nervous, and the food is amazing. The table is small, which means that their legs tangle beneath it, but that is in no way a bad thing. They exchange flirtatious glances and smiles over cucumber sandwiches and scones, and Hawke was right: this is one of the best dates he's ever had. 

As they walk back to the station Hawke feels warm and happy, and not just because of the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys. Just wanted you to know <3 Thank you so much for reading and supporting me, and for just being you :)
> 
> Also: I have at least two of those multi-coloured pencils from the British Museum, and I'm older than Hawke. Multi-coloured pencils for everyone!


	28. Chapter 28

Hawke turned off the sound on notifications from Whatsapp a while back thanks to Isabela's tendency to message people at 3am, so he's not entirely surprised when he wakes up on Monday morning to see his screen full of them from her.

In his morning bleariness he notes their existence and nothing more before getting into the shower. It's only when he's on the train that he gets a chance to read through them. They're all to him and Aveline.

**_Isabela_** _(2:45am)_  
_Aveline you really really need to get laid. wow._

**_Isabela_** _(2:45am)_  
_When u got drunk last night (Hawke she was so wasted lol) all you did was moooooooan_

**_Isabela_** _(2:46am)_  
_And I no what you're going to say - you were just grumpy because you were with me. But u no you love me <3 <3 <3 _

**_Isabela_** _(2:47am)_  
_So it's Donnic time okay???? Ur still mooning over him and u shot down my lingerie idea so I'm pulling Hawke in for advice as he's been in your sexless position recently and pulled thru_

_Charming,_ Hawke thinks. He _could_ give Aveline some advice, but comparing Donnic to an elf might not work as well as it did with Fenris.

He's in meetings all day and doesn't have chance to check his phone until he's on the train home, and unsurprisingly Aveline is not impressed with Isabela's meddling. As Hawke scrolls through the frankly impressive amounts of messaging - aren't they both supposed to be at work? - his shakes his head to see Aveline getting goaded by Isabela. You'd think after all these years she would know better.

By the end of the conversation apparently he's been roped into going over to Aveline's on Wednesday so that he and Isabela can help. He's not sure what help he'll be, other than stopping them from killing each other, but he still adds _sure count me in_. It's not just because Aveline has offered to cook for them, but is in a large part to do with seeing Aveline's dog. She had her puppies a few months ago - and of course Hawke went to see them, even if he decided that it was probably a bad idea to have one himself. They were adorable, and Hawke's phone is full of pictures of them. It's definitely time for a catch up.

And who knows? Maybe they will come up with some good ideas to help Aveline get her happy ever after.

===

Hawke arrives at Aveline's house at seven, almost exactly on time. She lives in a two bedroom terrace, with a garden out the back, small but enough for Hope, her spaniel.

As soon as Hawke knocks on the door he grins to hear Hope's barking, and grins even wider when he steps inside and she excitedly runs around him, then puts her paws on his thighs, seeking attention that he gladly gives her.

"Hello there," he says, crouching down to pat her silky head, and she licks his face. Dogs always love Hawke. It's a gift. "Who's a good girl? It's you! Yes it is."

"Be careful, Hawke, Fenris will be jealous if he finds out about you flirting with someone else," Isabela calls from the living room. Hawke blinks. He's on time but Isabela _never_ is. She must be really looking forward to tonight.

He follows Aveline into the living room to see Isabela on one of the sofas, legs stretched out long and toe nails painted gold. Although she's wearing denim cutoffs over leggings and a white sweater, she still manages to look regal. In a sexy way.

"I'm not flirting. Besides, Fenris is a dog person too. He'd understand," he tells her, giving Hope one last pat before sitting on the sofa, only to have her climb onto his lap the instant he sits down. It is a situation he is entirely happy with.

When they're all settled with cups of tea, Isabela gets a folder out of her bag with a flourish. _Aveline hearts Donnic_ is written on the cover with glitter pens. There are also heart-shaped stickers and when Hawke squints, he sees that there are cock-shaped ones too. Aveline glares at it; Isabela's grin only grows wider.

"So," Isabela says, opening the folder. "I've had some thoughts."

Aveline puts her head in her hands and groans loudly. "Why do I get the idea I'm going to regret asking you to come here tonight?"

"I have to say, I'm wondering why you did," Hawke says. Isabela makes a disgusted noise and throws a custard cream at Hawke, who catches it and dunks it in his tea.

"Because I'm a genius when it comes to seduction, that's why. Ask Bethany."

Hawke's brotherly protectiveness rears its head, but he manages to ignore it. "I'll pass, thanks. So what are your ideas?"

"The first one – I think you'll like this, Aveline – how about you invite him out for dinner?”

Aveline folds her arms and looks at Isabela suspiciously. “That sounds far too innocent for you. What's the catch?”

“What do you mean?” Isabela says, trying – and failing – to look innocent. “I'm pure as fresh-fallen snow.”

Aveline snorts at that, and Hawke has the manners to hide his grin behind his hand. Isabela feigns indignation for a minute before she bursts out laughing. 

“Alright, you've got me there. It's a very special dinner. An aphrodisiac feast; I've printed the menu. By the end of it he won't be able to keep his hands off you.”

“Really?” Aveline asks, and shakes her head. “I suppose it's a step up from lingerie, but no.”

“Then let's move onto the next one,” Isabela says, and turns over her page. But all of Isabela's other suggestions meet a similar fate, and she throws her hands up in frustration. "Fine! Ignore all my amazing ideas that I worked so hard on!"

"I intend to," Aveline says. "No, what's needed here is something - something _normal,_ especially after the Copper Marigolds fiasco. Like - going out to the pub."

"Good idea," Hawke says, nodding approvingly. "Ask him out for a drink."

"No, you should ask him."

Hawke takes a moment to process what she's said, then raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, Aveline, I'm taken."

She rolls her eyes, as if _he's_ the one not making any sense. "You ask him out - say there'll be a group of people from work going - and then I'll talk to him there."

"Why can't you arrange an actual work night out?"

"Because she doesn't want any of her underlings seeing how useless she is," Isabela suggests with a wicked smile, and Aveline's expression suggests she's right on the money.

"Please, Hawke. Do this for me. I helped you with Fenris."

He looks from her to Isabela, who is sitting with her arms folded and an eyebrow raised, but she doesn't speak out against it and she doesn't come to Hawke's defence. To be fair, Aveline _did_ help him with Fenris, and it's not a huge ask. It's just that Hawke can't help but feel that it's all going to go wrong somehow.

"Fine," he says eventually. "Should I ask him to the Hanged Man on Friday then?"

"No! No, not Friday. A quieter night. Wednesday. We'll be coming over for a meeting on Monday, you can ask him then."

Hawke's still far from convinced, and Hope barks suddenly as though she is similarly unsure. But he nods. "Alright. If you think it'll work."

"Thank you, Hawke."

After a pleasant dinner and lots of doggie time, Hawke and Isabela head back to the station together. 

"I prepared my folder for nothing," Isabela sighs. It's raining and Hawke offers to share his umbrella, but she shakes her head, saying she likes the rain. "I bought glitter pens and everything."

"Did you really think Aveline was going to be down for naked hot tubs?"

"No, but she might have been down for that aphrodisiac tasting menu," she says with a grin. "Me and Bethany are going to one. Maybe you and Fenris should come with us.”

Hawke coughs and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “I, ah. I'm not sure we're there yet.”

“No?” 

They head into the station. There's a train at the platform so they run for it, and they're slightly breathless when they make it through the closing doors. The other passengers look at them, slightly annoyed. People running for the train is about as exciting as things get in Aveline's neighbourhood, which is why she lives here. Quiet. _Boring_. Perfect, for someone who deals with chaos and violence on a daily basis. 

There aren't many people on the train, and they get a whole row to themselves. The only person sitting opposite is a man in a long scarf who's fallen asleep against the glass partition. 

“So how's it going with Fenris?” Isabela asks, stretching her legs out long in front of her and crossing her ankles. She links her arm with Hawke's and leans against his shoulder, getting herself absolutely comfortable. “You had your date at the weekend, right?"

"We did," Hawke says, and he's smiling as he does. It's his standard expression when it comes to talking about Fenris. "It's going well. He said-" Hawke pauses but then looks at Isabela. If he's going to tell anyone about this, it'll be her. Lowering his voice, he says, "He said he wants to make me come."

Isabela laughs, loudly, and slaps Hawke's shoulder. "I hope you took him up on the offer!"

"He didn't mean then and there. We were in the British Museum."

She looks at him blankly. "And that stopped you, why?"

"Anyway," Hawke says, not bothering to explain. "It was good. We talked. Decided we wanted each other-"

"Hawke, honestly, that's obvious to anyone who's ever been around you two. The way you look at each other - the way you touch each other without even thinking about it. The way your voice gets all gravelly when you talk to him, and his voice - oh Hawke, Fenris's _voice."_

"I am very aware of his voice," Hawke says, feeling flustered just at the thought of it. So deep and rough, and – can something be rough and smooth at the same time? Or maybe it's that sometimes it's rough, and sometimes it's smooth, and _always_ it's deeply, deeply sexy. 

"I bet he sounds amazing in bed," she adds, and Hawke groans, thinking of all of those noises Fenris makes when they're kissing, when they've been grinding against each other, when Hawke had his cock in his mouth-

_"Stop,"_ he says, at least partly to himself and his half-hard cock, and she grins at him.

"I bet you sound good, too," she says, running her fingers over his beard.

_"Isabela,"_ he says, and she chuckles, patting his chest and letting her hand drop.

"Anyway. Now that I've traumatised you - I do so love doing that, by the way – Bethany was the one who suggested the double date. Personally I think she's getting a little overprotective for a change."

Hawke laughs. "Who would have thought?"

"So what do you say? Do I get to stare at my two favourite boys all night while enjoying cocktails?"

"I'll ask Fenris, but it sounds good to me."

“I'll find somewhere special, where they'll give Fenris an amazing Screaming Orgasm.”

“Actually, he said that I'm the only person he wants giving him one of those.”

She waggles her eyebrows and leans in closer. “Tell me more.”

Hawke bites down on a grin. “I'll tell you more after I've given him one.”

“Promise?”

“No.”

“Spoilsport,” she huffs, but she kisses his cheek and settles back into her seat. “I'll find out somehow, you know. I always do.”

“We'll see.”

===

Hawke's plans for Thursday evening involve going back to Deep Roads. Not for some top up caffeine - well, not just for that. The owner is letting Merrill run a Coffee Evening, shutting the whole place up for it. It's ticketed, but since Hawke is a special customer he gets in free - so she says, but Hawke is pretty sure that dating a staff member comes with special privileges. Said staff member isn't working but is going for moral support, that and because Merrill badgered him into it. But it means they get to have a date at the place where it all started, and Hawke finds a pleasant symmetry in that.

He's brought a change of clothes to work, a good old plaid shirt and blue jeans. He goes into the bathroom to change, inspecting himself in the mirror. He fingercombs his hair, runs a hand over his beard – which needs trimming, he notes – and decides he looks okay. The lighting is shitty in there and makes him look half-dead, but he is _fairly_ sure he looks at least mostly okay. He also brought a mini bottle of Listerine with him – this _is_ a date – and after using it feels much more kissable. 

After folding his suit messily and shoving it in his desk drawer, he heads to Deep Roads. As he walks over the bridge, his excitement grows. Another date with Fenris. Another night of spending time with him, of holding his hand, maybe even kissing him, if he's lucky. He still feels a little nervous – a little worry that maybe everything is going _too_ well, but that's far overshadowed by the excitement.

When he arrives just after six, the door is locked and curtains have been drawn over the windows. He knocks and the curtains twitch aside. A wide-eyed Merrill looks out at him and waves energetically. Hawke wonders if she's already maybe had a bit too much caffeine.

"Hello, Hawke!" She says when she opens the door. Inside it smells strongly of coffee, even more than usual. "I'm a bit flustered, sorry. We're just getting ready but come in!"

Fenris has been roped in to help with the set-up, looking mighty fine - as always - in his tight jeans. The first sight of him is of his back, and Hawke not-so-subtly admires his arse. But then he's roped in too. Putting up bunting and setting out teacups and saucers - yes, for coffee - as well as slicing several specially-made coffee cakes. He's told there is also coffee ice cream, and a restaurant is even delivering a dish of lamb braised with coffee. Which sounds _interesting_ but Hawke is willing to give it a try for Merrill's sake.

When they're done Merrill looks at it like a proud mother, smiling with her hands on her hips. She thanks Hawke and Fenris before grabbing Tamlen's hand and whisking him away to the back room.

"Do you think they're doing something work related or just kissing?" Hawke leans against the counter, and Fenris steps forward, bracing him against it, hands either side of his hips. The look he gives Hawke makes him shiver: it's pure seduction, intense and green and smouldering. Hawke, as always, is instantly smitten. 

"I don't know, but since _we're_ not doing anything work-related..."

He puts a hand to the back of Hawke's neck and draws him down. He already tastes of coffee, and his lips are soft and warm. His body is so hard against Hawke's, and after that little confession at the museum Hawke has been thinking about him even more than usual. What he looked like naked, the lines of his body.

"I want to ask you something," Hawke says when they pull apart to breathe.

"Oh?" Fenris asks. His green eyes are dark, pupils blown, and god, Hawke wants him so much, he _aches_ with it. Which is sort of what Hawke wants to ask him about.

"It's kind of embarrassing. Or maybe it's kind of hot. Both, actually."

"Go on then."

"Would you, ah - when I'm-" Hawke licks his lips. This isn't going to get any less embarrassing by stalling. "Would you be okay with me thinking about you when I wank?"

Fenris's eyes widen and then he grins. "You're asking permission?"

"Well, given everything you told me - everything we've talked about - I thought it was important to ask."

Fenris's grin becomes a small, wondering smile, and he lifts a hand to Hawke's cheek. Quietly, he says, "You - because of what happened to me - you wanted to ask permission?"

Hawke nods. "It's a little silly, I know."

“It isn't. And yes, Hawke. You can think of me. I _want_ you to think of me. I want you, I want-” He shakes his head and dispenses with the talking. Instead he kisses Hawke, wet, fierce, teeth bumping together. His body is close and hot and hard – _he's_ hard, they're both hard, god, _yes_ \- Hawke wants and he wants and he _wants_. 

He wants Fenris more than he's ever wanted anyone, but this is about much more than sex, so much more.

"You are fucking incredible," Fenris breathes, his hands curling in Hawke's hair, pulling on it lightly, and Hawke's eyes close in pleasure.

"I'm glad you think so."

"I just-" Fenris shakes his head and then drops it to Hawke's chest. His voice is muffled when he says, "I feel so lucky to have met you."

"The feeling is extremely mutual," he says, stroking his hand down Fenris's back, feeling the muscles, the curve of his spine. Fenris _hmms_ and moves closer to Hawke, if that's possible, pressing their hips together and circling against him, making him gasp, filling him with sparks and heat and want. 

“Fenris,” he gasps, and Fenris growls, which does not help _at all_. He grinds against Hawke again, and if they were anywhere else, if they were doing anything else tonight, Hawke would ask him if he wanted to go somewhere more private. As it is, they can't abandon Merrill, so he groans and pulls back, unwillingly. 

"We better stop."

"I suppose," Fenris says, but slides his hands down to Hawke's arse. Hawke grins and puts his hands on Fenris's waist and gently pushes him away.

"Later," he says, and kisses him, which to be honest isn't helping with the stopping, but it _is_ very nice.

Merrill and Tamlen finally come out of the back room - from how pink Tamlen's cheeks are and how mussed Merrill's hair, Hawke takes an educated guess that they were doing more than work stuff, especially when Merrill's eyes widen and she goes back in to get the poster she went in for in the first place.

And then at seven, the Coffee Night begins. 

The doors open, and Tamlen is in charge of tickets, Merrill in charge of greeting people with a smile and a shot of coffee liqueur.

Since Hawke and Fenris got there early they have front row seats, and they've already had a couple of sneaky shots. It's good stuff, creamy and delicious, but the alcohol has snuck up on Hawke and he's feeling pleasantly tipsy. 

As he watches people come in, he vaguely recognises some of them. Although he comes into Deep Roads every day, he rarely sits down and spends time here. When he does, it's with Fenris, and he's unlikely to take much notice of anyone else. But most of them greet the staff like friends or at least acquaintances. Fenris is polite but not especially friendly; even Merrill doesn't act with them the way she does Hawke. It makes him feel special. 

Although apparently that friendship has downsides because she asks - very sweetly - for Hawke to bring a huge bag of coffee beans out of storage since he's _so strong and muscly._ Hawke lets himself be charmed, even though he's fairly sure Fenris is every bit as strong as he is, even if isn't as big.

Fenris, not entirely unexpectedly, ends up helping with the coffee; Merrill wants to show off some latte art, and Fenris is a master of it. He makes one with a dragon in the foam just for Hawke and it makes him so happy he gets tears in his eyes. Just a little, and it might be a little bit because of the coffee liqueur, but - yeah.

Hawke is also called in as a tester for some of Merrill's stranger concoctions. After, he thinks that might just have been because he's the least likely to sue them. They range from a bitter, gritty Turkish-style coffee that has mint tea added to it, which is not entirely unpleasant, to coffee made with yogurt and salt, which might be the worst thing Hawke has ever tasted.

"Remember you said that one beer tasted of despair?" Hawke whispers to Fenris when he sits down. "So did that coffee."

Fenris bites back a grin and takes Hawke's hand. It's warm and strong, and Hawke looks down at their entwined fingers, entirely distracted for a moment.

The lamb-with-coffee is surprisingly delicious, and as they eat, Fenris and Hawke sit in a booth with Merrill and Tamlen, and it's almost like a double date. Preparation for the one with Isabela and Bethany, perhaps, though Hawke's pretty sure that one will be rather livelier – although after all this caffeine, he's feeling a lively enough as it is. He drinks lots of water with dinner, and ignores the amused looks that Fenris gives him. Not everyone has a barista's caffeine tolerance. If that's even a thing.

There's lots of coffee cake for dessert, and a talk from Merrill about the journey of coffee from plant to cup. She tells them all about her plans for a coffee club, which gets murmurs of interest from the crowd. Then there's one last shot of coffee liqueur to close the night, and a round of applause that makes Merrill blush. 

After everyone else is gone, Hawke and Fenris stay to help clear up.

"I think this counts as a good date," Hawke says as he picks up the huge bag of coffee beans Merrill had him bring through at the start of the evening. Not that he wants to be a show-off or anything, but he does like the way Fenris's eyes linger on his arms; but then, he always enjoys that.

“I think so too,” Fenris says, looking at him very appreciatively. 

Once everything is put away and Merrill is putting the last of the cake into boxes for them to take home, Hawke takes Fenris's hand.

"Are you coming to the Hanged Man next Friday?" Hawke starts, but he's interrupted by Merrill.

"It's our work do next Friday! The owner has given us money to go out for a nice dinner," she says, and gives Fenris a stern look. "And Fenris is definitely coming, aren't you?"

"Given that you'd glare at me for the rest of the month if I didn't, I suppose I'd better."

"But Hawke can come too. He helped out tonight after all; that counts as working here."

Fenris gives Hawke a hopeful look, and Hawke can't deny him; he would never be able to.

"That sounds nice, Merrill."

When everything is finally put away, back to normal ready for the next morning, Fenris and Hawke say their goodbyes and head across the road to the station. As they stand on the platform, as far from the rowdier passengers as possible, Hawke looks sideways at Fenris and smiles.

"Looks like we're train buddies again," he says, and Fenris chuckles.

"So it does," Fenris says, and takes Hawke's hand. "I wanted to do this even back then," he says, then grins. "That, and a whole lot more."

"Oh really?"

"Mmm." Fenris is quiet a moment, watching the approaching lights of the train, then leans in to Hawke, holding his hand a little tighter. "Speaking of such things, I think I should ask you for permission, too."

"What for?"

Fenris leans closer, and says, "Permission to think about you when I'm wanking."

Hawke's head snaps to the side to stare at him, and only Fenris's quick reflexes stop him getting smacked in the nose by Hawke's cheekbone. He doesn't move back too far, though, and leans back in to kiss him. Unsurprisingly he tastes of coffee.

"So is that a yes? Or no?"

"It's an _oh god yes,"_ Hawke says as they make their way into the train. It's crowded and they end up near the door, crowded together. There are people at Hawke's back, too, but he could give a damn about them.

"This seems familiar," Fenris says, putting both his hands to Hawke's hips.

"It does, doesn't it?" Hawke grins down at him. "So you really think of me when you're - you know."

"All the time."

"Like - what sort of thing?" Fenris raises an eyebrow, and Hawke licks his lips. "For research purposes."

Fenris cocks his head then stands a little straighter, speaking quietly so that Hawke has to lean in and listen carefully to hear him. "I think about you sucking my cock. Taking your time with it, doing everything I tell you I like. I think about what it felt like to have your mouth around me - so _good,_ Hawke. I think about sucking you off, too. What you'd taste like, the way my lips would stretch around you, how it would feel to have you in my mouth."

"Christ," Hawke says weakly.

"I think about eating you out, too. I've thought about fucking you a few times-" Hawke whines embarrassingly loudly, drawing a few glances from the nearby crowd. Fenris grins up at him. "You'd like that?"

"Fucking hell, _yes_."

"You like - hmm, bottoming?"

"God, yes. I like anything." He licks his lips, tries to summon enough sense to have an actual conversation. "Depends who I'm with. With Anders, he was on top about seventy percent of the time-"

"Anders?"

Hawke freezes. 

Fenris's frown is deep, and Hawke realises that he never actually told Fenris about him and Anders. _Shit_.

Quickly he says, "We went out for a few months. And slept together a few times since then. Not since I met you. Um. I wasn't trying to hide it. But I also never found the right moment. When are you supposed to tell your boyfriend that you slept with the guy he hates?"

Fenris's eyebrows go from frown to hairline in half a second. "Boyfriend?"

_Oh god oh god why can I never control my mouth!?_ Hawke can't read Fenris's expression, beyond the surprise. _Please don't be angry with me._

"Or, you know. Person I like a lot that I've been on several dates with and really hope I didn't just upset?"

"No, I'm not-" Fenris pauses as the announcement that the train is about to pull into Haggerston. "I'm not upset. Just - no-one's ever called me their boyfriend before. It's - novel."

"Good or bad?"

Fenris cocks his head, thinking. "Good. Especially with how adorably flustered you are." Fenris looks at him for a moment and then shakes his head. "You and Anders. I just can't picture it."

The train pulls into the station and Hawke suggests he gets off so they can talk about this on the platform, but Fenris just looks at him, amused.

"I'm not angry with you – as long as you're all mine now."

"Yes, definitely,” Hawke says, rushed, incredibly happy that Fenris isn't upset. “Completely."

Fenris smiles and kisses him fiercely before stepping through the doors. He turns and looks at Hawke, meeting his eyes. 

"Good," he says. "Because I'm yours."


	29. Chapter 29

Friday night is fun. Hawke had no idea so many people worked at Deep Roads; by the end of the evening, he still can't remember all of their names, though the wine and the shot of tequila that came with dessert might have something to do with that. 

He enjoys the delicious Mexican meal – they share lots of small plates so that everyone gets a little of everything, Hawke's favourite kind of meal – and he enjoys the gig in the pub next door, a woman with an acoustic guitar singing folksy songs. It's not exactly Hawke's kind of music, but she's got a good voice and the pub has a good atmosphere.

But Hawke's favourite bit by far is kissing Fenris at the side of the room, away from the crowds. He tastes of smoky wine, he's warm, he's close, and he's everything Hawke's ever wanted. And he could use the excuse of that being the wine talking, but he's thought the same thing plenty of times stone cold sober.

"You're my favourite," Hawke murmurs to him between kisses, and Fenris looks up at him, breathing hard but saying nothing. His gaze is soft, though, and he lifts a hand to Hawke's cheek.

"You're my favourite, too."

Hawke stares down at him, suddenly filled with a ridiculous amount of affection for Fenris, for this man who can be cool and distant, but so rarely is with Hawke. He lets Hawke see who he really is, and that means so much, so damn much.

He pulls Fenris into a tight hug and Fenris goes happily, leaning against Hawke, wrapping his arms around him. Hawke kisses the top of his head, and he can't stop smiling.

"Favourite," he says again.

Fenris lifts his head, and looks at Hawke for a moment before kissing him again. 

"You want to come back to my place?" Fenris asks, and Hawke looks down, surprise rippling through him. Fenris looks tipsy and happy. He has a crooked smile, his lips kiss-bruised, his thumb brushing against Hawke's hip, having snuck under his top. 

"You want me to?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise. I'd like to kiss you. A lot," he says, and does it again.

Just kissing. Hawke can do that. They can do that. Going back to Fenris's place is a Big Thing, but they're not going to do anything. Besides, Fenris slept over at his recently. Admittedly he slept on the couch and spent the morning cleaning up blood from Hawke's face – not exactly romantic – but he still stayed over, so this isn't the first time since – since _that_ time. 

"I'd like that." 

They push away from the wall, and walk over to the rest of the party to say goodbye. Merrill's eyes widen when they say they're leaving together, and she gives them a tipsy, knowing and not at all subtle look. 

They head straight to the station and almost as soon as they sit down, Fenris falls asleep, his hand in Hawke's, his head on his shoulder. 

Hawke's phone buzzes, and he fishes it out of his pocket. 

**_Merrill_** _(22:27):_  
_Things seem to be going well btween you and fenriss!!! :)_

 ** _Hawke_** _(22:27):_  
_He invited me back to his place but he fell asleep on the train. It's fucking adorable_

 ** _Merrill_** _(22:28):_  
_How cute!!! <3 Look after him Hawke_

 ** _Hawke_** _(22:28):_  
_Always_

Haggerston's only a couple of stops, but Hawke lets Fenris sleep right until they pull into the station. He considers trying to carry him, but - no. Even if he could - and he has pretty clear visions of staggering under Fenris's weight, light though he looks - there's no way he could do it without waking him. That's the stuff of romcoms and fairytales, not real life, and certainly not _Hawke's_ life. He'd be more likely to drop him. 

So he wakes him, and Fenris blinks up at him sleepily. Hawke's never seen anything so cute in all his life. Fenris stretches and smiles, and holds Hawke's hand as they step off the train.

"I'm glad," Fenris says when they're out on the street.

"Glad?"

"That we started officially dating again. I missed you.” 

Hawke nods, understanding. Even though they've seen each almost every day since they started talking again, he gets it. Official dating is different.

"I've missed you too."

It's not far to Fenris's place. Hawke probably wouldn't have found it on his own; it's been months since he was here, and he was driving then. Fenris lets them in with a key fob, Hawke follows him inside, up to the first floor. The hallways and staircases are a bit sterile, but when they step out onto the balcony-slash-walkway shared by the two first-floor flats, there is greenery everywhere: in large pots on the floor, in ones designed for balconies that hang over the railing. 

“Is the green thumb yours?”

“No, my neighbour's,” Fenris says, walking to the furthest door. 

By the side of it, there's a small metal table that's seen better days, with two seats. On one of them is sat a small wooden skeleton, smiling up at them. 

Fenris fumbles for the right key, and once the door is open he gestures for Hawke to follow him in. Hawke pauses on the threshold, putting a hand to the door frame. All of a sudden he feels overwhelmed with all of this. Fenris stayed over at his, yes, but this will be the first time they've slept in the same bed since Fenris left him. He looks at Fenris, barely visible in the dark hallway, then blinks at the brightness when Fenris flicks on the lights.

"Is everything okay?" Fenris asks, dumping his bag and toeing off his shoes just inside the door. 

"This is - significant."

Hawke's expecting him to laugh, or roll his eyes. But he looks at him, perfectly serious, and nods. "It is.” He cocks his head and looks at Hawke for a long moment with those green eyes before adding, “But it's what I want."

"It's what I want, too." Hawke steps inside, and Fenris pulls him down for a kiss, tongue flicking into his mouth, just for a moment, before he pulls away and looks down.

"Shoes off."

As Hawke struggles to get his laces untied, Fenris goes through a door to the left. Beyond his silhouette Hawke sees it's a small galley kitchen, watches as he pours them both a glass of water. 

Shoes finally off, he follows Fenris into the room. Fenris hands him a glass, and Hawke looks around as he drinks it. There's an impressive amount of alcohol in one corner, and a mismatched collection of spices and herbs in another. A couple of dirty black mugs in the sink, and others – all either grey or black – are hung neatly on a mug tree. Some trinkets sit on the windowsill - tourist tat, Hawke thinks. He spies ones from Pisa, Krakow, Budapest, Palma. He smiles; he'd never have expected that from Fenris. There's a corkboard on the wall, mostly filled with receipts and recipes, but there are a few photos. One of Fenris with a red-head that Hawke recognises as his friend from Berlin. Both of them are wearing leis, holding a bottle of wine each, and looking very drunk. A few with people Hawke doesn't recognise. Mostly they are cityscapes or landscapes, moody and high contrast. Hawke wonders if Fenris took them. 

And then there's one of the two of them, Hawke on the left, Fenris on the right. It's from the night Zev was in town. The night he and Fenris had their first kiss. Hawke doesn't even remember the photo being taken, but then neither of them are looking at the camera. They're deep in discussion; Fenris with his hands in shot, gesticulating, mouth open slightly; Hawke is looking at him intently, listening, his eyes on Fenris's lips. It's a good shot, to say that it's obviously candid and probably on someone's phone. Hawke wonders how long it's been up in Fenris's kitchen.

"Your friend Zev took that one," Fenris says, finishing his water. "Merrill gave it to me, via Isabela."

Hawke raises an eyebrow. He wonders why _he_ didn't get a copy. "It's a nice picture."

"One of many, I hope."

Hawke smiles at him. "Me too."

He gets a quick tour of the rest of the flat - a large living room with a grey sofa on one side and a desk on the other, a laptop and an expensive looking camera on it. There's a map on one wall, fairylights over the desk, and framed prints of stylised movie posters on the walls. There's also a small plush skeleton on the sofa to match the wooden one on the chair outside; Hawke decides not to ask. He gets himself another glass of water, and then Fenris shows him the bathroom, and then lastly, the bedroom.

If entering the flat was significant, this is even more so. Not that they're going to be doing anything in here, not tonight - Fenris said he didn't want to, and Hawke's ten minutes away from falling asleep. Still, it's important.

A king size bed takes up most of the space, messily made with a grey and black duvet cover. Bookshelves line the back wall, and there are more fairylights, which Fenris switches on. 

They give the room a nice warmth, and when Fenris strips off his shirt, he looks-

Beautiful. He always looks beautiful.

Slender but so strong, all of his muscles well-defined. He's turned away, reaching into the chest of drawers. The tattoos are mere whispers in the dim light, as are his scars. But Hawke knows they're there, and he's filled with a sudden need to kiss all of them. 

He steps forward and takes Fenris's hand, then gasps, heartrate rocketing, as Fenris throws him hard against the wall.

They stare at each other, both of them wide-eyed. Fenris's hand is still clutching Hawke's shoulder. 

“You startled me,” he says. 

“I'm sorry.”

“Just – be careful, Hawke. I like you touching me but – I need to know it's you.”

Hawke nods. “I'm sorry,” he says again. 

They look at each other, Hawke's heart thudding still, and Fenris's grip eases. His fingers go to Hawke's shirt buttons; slowly, he unfastens them, one by one, and slides the shirt off his shoulders, lets it drop to the floor. Hawke watches him, lifts his arms to let Fenris pull the t-shirt off as well. He tries to push away any kind of expectation. Nothing's going to happen. They're both drunk, they're both tired. But just this, just Fenris looking at his bare chest, his arms, is hot as hell. It's hotter still when Fenris lifts both of his hands, putting them to Hawke's chest, running his fingers over his chest hair. Hawke breathes in sharply when those fingers ghost over his nipples and Fenris smiles, glancing up at him through his bangs. He doesn't say anything, but he does it again, just once. Then his fingers go downwards, following the trail of hair, dipping into his belly button, pausing at his belt. He stays there, looking at Hawke's belt buckle for a long moment before looking up again. 

Still he doesn't speak, but his hands follow the waist band around to this sides, where they rest on his hips. 

“Kiss me,” Fenris says, his voice rough and rich, making Hawke think of whiskey, and he does as he's told. Leaning down he presses their lips together, gently, but Fenris is in no mood for gentle. He bites at Hawke's bottom lip then angles his head, deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue inside Hawke's mouth. His hands tighten on Hawke's hips, and by the time he pulls back they're both breathing heavily and Hawke is hard. They stare into each others' eyes, and this might be one of the most intimate moments of Hawke's life. 

Fenris lifts his hand to either side of Hawke's face and then kisses him again, very softly. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“For what?”

“For putting up with me.”

“I'll put up with you forever, Fenris.” Hawke licks his lips. He can feel the next words pushing their way out of his mouth, but can't stop them. “Not that it's putting up with you. I like being with you. Whatever we're doing. Although I do like the kissing.”

Bam. 

Moment spoiled. 

But Fenris only smiles, and kisses him again. 

“So do I.”

He crooks a finger at Hawke and leads him to the bathroom. There's a scuffed white cupboard under the sink, and Fenris crouches to get something from it. When he stands, he has a red toothbrush in his hand, still in its packet. 

“Since I have one at your flat, I wanted you to have one here. Not that I was planning on asking you to come back here tonight, but I hoped you would at some point.” He offers it to Hawke, who takes it, looks down at the little stick of red plastic and bristles, marvels that it can mean so much. Fenris was planning for him to come back here. Repeatedly – you don't buy a toothbrush for someone who will only be staying over once. 

Hawke tries to formulate something to say that encompasses all of that and how he feels about it – touched, special, ridiculously happy – but all he manages is, “Red's my favourite colour.”

“I know,” Fenris says with a smile, lifting his wrist with the silk cuff wrapped around it. 

“So you do,” Hawke says, and takes his hand, kisses the inside of his wrist. 

Fenris blushes, seemingly shy suddenly. “I – I'll let you– Feel free to use the toothpaste,” he says, and then hurries out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

Hawke smiles at the door, and then at the toothbrush in his hand. 

This is a good sign. It's a very good sign. 

After brushing his teeth, Fenris does the same while Hawke waits in the bedroom and checks his phone. There's an email from his mother about the family going to Edinburgh for the weekend soon, and a string of drunk texts from Isabela. There's one from Varric too, telling him that his awkward romance novel is going well, and perhaps ill-advisedly, Hawke texts back, _you have no idea_.

 _ **Varric**_ _(23:22)_  
_I will be questioning you next time I see you, Hawke_

When Fenris comes back into the bedroom he takes a pair of faded black pyjama bottoms from a drawer and puts them on, then turns to Hawke. 

“I don't think I own anything that will even remotely fit you,” he says, and Hawke shrugs. 

“I can sleep in my underwear. If that's okay.”

Fenris chuckles, and grins at him. “It's very okay.”

Hawke strips down to his red boxer-briefs, and then awkwardly folds his jeans, shirt and t-shirt, putting them on the floor at the side of the bed. When he turns back, Fenris is sitting in bed, watching him with interest in his eyes. 

Hawke gets into bed. He does it slowly, carefully getting under the sheets, watching Fenris for any sign that he needs to stop or slow down. Not that they're going to be doing anything other than sleeping, but he doesn't know what might trigger Fenris, and doesn't think he does, either. 

But Hawke gets into bed with no issues, and the only expression on Fenris's face is interest. 

“You look good,” he says.

“Oh yeah?”

 _“So_ good,” Fenris says, and pulls him in for another kiss. They don't press their bodies together, other than a brush of arms and legs, and Hawke's glad – it means that Fenris is serious about talking this slowly. The kiss is that kind of sloppy, drunk-and-tired messy that is just _easy_ and relaxed and fun. Fenris kisses down Hawke's neck, bites gently. “Can I-”

“Hmm?” Hawke asks, when Fenris doesn't continue. 

“I want to – leave a mark.”

Hawke's eyes widen. “A love bite?”

“I shouldn't have asked, it's silly-”

“No – I mean, no, it's not silly. Yes, you can do it. Please.”

Fenris kisses him again and then sucks a bruise into Hawke's neck, where it meets his shoulder so that it'll be covered by his collar when he goes to work. But Hawke will know it's there, know that Fenris wanted to mark him as his, and he moans when Fenris pulls away to admire his art, pressing a finger gently to it. 

His eyes lift, meeting Hawke's. “I like you so much,” he whispers. “So much.”

“I like you too,” Hawke says, also a whisper, a truth they both know but there's something about this moment, about sharing a bed, that needs the softness, the quietness. 

They smile at each other some more and Fenris runs his fingers over Hawke's beard, touches Hawke's cheekbone, his lips, his eyebrow.

“Hawke,” he murmurs, smiles. “Garrett.” Hawke likes the sound of his name on his tongue, even if no one uses it outside of his family. Still quiet, Fenris asks, “Do you have a middle name?”

“Malcolm. After my dad.”

“Malcolm,” Fenris repeats. “Garrett Malcolm Hawke.” He sounds like he's tasting the name; he looks like he likes the taste.

Hawke blinks. “I just realised that I don't even know your surname. How have we known each other for six months – more – without me knowing your surname?”

Fenris chuckles, then smiles at him. “It's Emery.”

“Fenris Emery,” Hawke says, and it sounds nice. It suits him. “It's a nice name.”

Fenris shrugs. “It's okay.” He laughs and bites his lip. “Hmm, I just had a thought - Fenris Hawke. Don't you think that sound good?”

“Oh my god!” Hawke says, his cheeks burning, and Fenris laughs harder. He's doing it on purpose. “Oh my _god!_ You can't say that sort of thing to me and expect me to keep my cool!”

“You're never cool, Hawke,” Fenris says, fondly, and he's not wrong. He smiles again and then kisses him, and Hawke decides to forgive him for teasing. Just this once.

After one last kiss, Fenris turns out the fairylights and takes Hawke's hand. That's how they fall asleep; hand-in-hand, listening to the sound of each other's breath.


	30. Chapter 30

Hawke wakes and realises two things, one after the other.

He's in Fenris's bed.

Fenris isn't in it with him.

Instantly awake, his heart racing, he sits straight up and looks around frantically.

It's still dark outside, and there's not much light, but as his eyes adjust he sees that Fenris is definitely not here.

"No," he whispers, just as the bedroom door opens. It's Fenris, dressed-

Like last time, it's just like last time, oh god please-

"Don't leave me," Hawke begs, and Fenris's eyes widen.

"What?" He comes over to the bed, sits on it beside Hawke.

"Don't leave me again," Hawke says, and grabs Fenris's hand. "Please. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

Fenris whispers something Hawke doesn't quite catch - he thinks it might be Italian - and then grabs Hawke by the shoulders and pulling him in.

"I didn't think," Fenris whispers, and kisses his neck, again, again. "You didn't do anything, you never did anything. I'm not leaving you. I was just getting ready for work. I'm sorry, Hawke, I didn't _think."_

He doesn't let Hawke go, and Hawke holds him back, tightly, closely, buries his face in his hair. He's shaking and his heart is racing, aching, and god, Hawke isn't sure he could cope if Fenris left him, not now.

Fenris is stroking his hair, sweet and gentle and soothing, and slowly the ache in Hawke's chest eases. 

_Not leaving me,_ Hawke thinks, and the relief comes on him in such a rush that it makes him feel dizzy. He holds Fenris a little tighter. 

"I'm opening at work this morning," Fenris says, and Hawke pulls back to look at him. "Just because I had to be awake at this ungodly hour doesn't mean you have to be. But I didn't think-" he bites his lip and looks away. "I really hurt you, didn't I? Back then?"

"Yeah," Hawke says, and lets out a long shaky breath. He closes his eyes for the space of a few deep breaths, and when he opens them, the worst of the panic has subsided. He looks at Fenris, who's still looking away, the bedsheets gripped tightly in one closed fist. "I'm okay. I just - jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Fenris looks up at him, hiding behind his hair, then lifts his head and looks Hawke in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," Fenris says again, and gives him a gentle kiss before pressing their foreheads together. "For then, and now. I know that doesn't make it right, but... I'm sorry.”

Hawke doesn't say anything, just breathes, letting his heart slow and his body relax. Putting his arms around Fenris he holds him tightly.

He's not leaving him.

Just a misunderstanding.

Everything's fine.

Fenris strokes one hand down Hawke's back, following the line of his spine, bare skin to bare skin, and Hawke shivers. Desire rouses in him, slow but promising to be white hot. Hawke bites his lip and pulls back. Fear and then arousal is too heady a combination for a Saturday morning.

"You have to go?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Then let me get dressed," Hawke says, throwing the covers off himself and reaching for his pile of clothes, but Fenris puts a hand on his arm.

"No, no, it's alright. Stay. Get some sleep. I left my spare key on the bedside table. I was going to write a note but-" He probably-swears again, still in Italian. "I can't believe I didn't _think_."

Hawke looks away, at the key, and feels a strange tightness in his chest.

"You were going to leave me here alone in your flat?"

"Yes, I'm sorry-"

"No, that's not what I mean," Hawke says, and takes Fenris's hands, pulls them into his lap - which is right about when he realises that since he no longer has the sheets over him, he's pretty much naked. Hawke ignores that fact, or tries to, even as his cheeks start to burn. "I mean, it's a sign of trust. It's - it means something."

"It does," Fenris agrees. He's looking down at their hands in Hawke's lap, or Hawke thinks he is. But even in the semi-dark room with the only real light coming from the hallway, he thinks he can see Fenris's cheeks darken. And his voice is a little deeper than usual, which goes straight to Hawke's cock, and it is absolutely not the time. Thankfully Fenris looks up. "I do trust you, Hawke. And that's - important. I'm not the trusting type."

"You don't say," Hawke says, unable to stop himself. Fenris chuckles, rich and deep, and it isn't helping the hard-on situation _at all_.

"Just put the keys through the letter box when you go," Fenris says, and then tucks his hair behind his ear. "Or - you could stay. If you wanted to."

Hawke wants to. Hawke really, really wants to.

If just coming here was a big step, being allowed to stay on his own, then be here when Fenris returns? That's huge.

"What time do you finish?"

"One. I'll probably be back around two."

"I could make us lunch. I still haven't cooked for you - just for you."

Fenris's eyes widen, then a sweet little smile plays over his lips.

"You'd have lunch waiting for me when I get home?"

"I'll make a good little house husband."

Fenris's gaze dips down to Hawke's lap and when he looks up again, he has a _wicked_ grin.

"There's nothing little about you, Hawke." His voice has gone deep again, and he leans in for a slick little kiss before standing and clearing his throat as he adjusts his jeans. Hawke looks away but not before he sees that Fenris is most definitely hard.

Jesus.

"I'd like that," Fenris says, his voice still deep though Hawke can tell he's striving for normalcy. "You cooking for me, I mean. Well, not just that-” He coughs. “Um. I don't have much food in the kitchen at the moment."

"I'll go get something," Hawke says, snagging the sheets and pulling them over himself in a belated attempt to protect his modesty. "I'll probably nip home and get changed anyway."

Fenris nods, and his mouth opens as though he's about to say something else, but then he darts in, quick, precise, his hand to the back of Hawke's head. He kisses him deep and hard, steals his breath before standing up again.

"Then I'll see you later, Hawke."

"You will."

===

Hawke didn't think there was any way he'd get to sleep again, but he manages.

When he wakes it's almost ten, and he lies there in Fenris's bed, grinning at the pillows beside him, at the few strands of white hair on the pillow case.

He pauses for about three seconds before rolling onto Fenris's side of the bed and breathing in deep, the scent of him lingering. Hawke rolls his hips, just once, before remembering that propriety is a thing.

Although admittedly, not a thing Hawke's ever been all that interested in. Still though. He stands and stretches, then picks up his pile of clothes. He considers texting Fenris to ask if he can borrow some underwear, then decides that a) that's too intimate and also b) they wouldn't fit. So he goes commando and gingerly opens drawers in the kitchen until he finds Fenris's stash of carrier bags, and steals one for his briefs.

He shoves them in his messenger bag, then grabs Fenris's keys. Before he leaves he pauses, looking behind him and taking in the view.

He's in Fenris's flat. He has his spare key in his hand. He has a tooth brush in the bathroom.

This is huge.

This is also awesome, and Hawke is smiling as he leaves.

When he gets home, he showers and gets changed – jeans, tight t-shirt, with a shirt over the top – plaid, of course, red, for maximum lumbersexual points. Hawke texts _you're not allergic to any foods are you???_ Because honestly, that would be just his luck, cooking something that that Fenris can't even eat.

 ** _Fenris_** _(11:21)_  
_Nope but I am intrigued as to what you're planning_

Hawke texts back _it's a surprise xxxxxxx_.

On the way back to Fenris's he goes to his favourite grocery store, an indie Whole Foods type place, and grabs ingredients, cheesecake, and wine.

When he gets back to Fenris's and opens one of the cupboards he reflects that he needn't have bothered - there are literally dozens of bottles in here. It's a veritable wine cellar. He also realises that the desk against the wall in the living room doubles as a dining table, and there are two chairs there. 

Perfect for a romantic lunch date.

Another look in the cupboards reveals everything he needs to set the table, and then he sets about getting the meal ready. 

So engrossed in his cooking, Hawke barely notices the time until he hears a key in the front door. 

Turning, he smiles as he sees Fenris come into the flat, feeling a sweet little warmth uncoiling inside of him. It's a nice moment, being here when Fenris comes home, and it seems like Fenris agrees, for once he's taken off his shoes and hung up his coat, he comes into the kitchen with a smile. 

"I have a handsome man in my kitchen cooking for me. I could get used to this."

"You should. I'm a good cook, you know. Taken classes and everything."

"Hmm," Fenris says, and kisses him. Straight to the point - Hawke likes that. He hugs Fenris tight - tightly enough that he squeaks. He smells of coffee; it's nice. It's _Fenris_. They smile at each other, and then Fenris is kissing him again - there's a little hunger there, an edge of need as he presses his tongue into Hawke's mouth and both of them groan. Fenris pushes him back against the counter. "I've been thinking about you all day," he says.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Fenris says, and then he's kissing him again, and there's more than a little hunger this time. His hips grind against Hawke's and _fuck_ that feels good, Jesus, Fenris-

A hissing sound pulls him out of the moment, and he pulls back to swear as he sees one of the pots boiling over. He pulls the pan off the flame and turns it down, before turning with a mock-frown at Fenris, and wags his finger at him.

"Stop being distracting, and go and open the wine." He points at the counter, where the newly-purchased bottle sits – merlot, of course.

"Whatever you say, chef," he says, but he gropes Hawke's arse before doing as he's told. When he takes the bottle and glasses into the living room, Hawke hears him laugh. "You set the table!"

"Yeah, I put your laptop and camera in the bedroom," Hawke calls, stabbing a potato with a fork and stirring the sauce.

"I never use that table," Fenris says as he comes back into the kitchen. He looks amused. "As a dining table, I mean. Where did you even find those candlesticks?"

"In the cupboard under the sink. I hope that's okay," Hawke says. "I didn't want to snoop, but I figured that there wouldn't be anything private under the sink."

"For all you know, I could have kept all my sex toys in there."

Hawke stares at him. He's completely deadpan, and Hawke can't read his expression at all. "You have a collection of sex toys?"

Fenris just smiles, and gets a lighter from one of the drawers before heading back into the living room.

Fenris totally has a collection of sex toys.

 _Oh my god_.

Forcing himself to concentrate on what he's doing, Hawke finishes the meal, insisting that Fenris go and watch TV while he works.

He plates everything up and then looks down, pleased, at his creation. Halloumi cheese with a Mediterranean tomato sauce; delicious lemony potatoes, with green beans and asparagus, which he definitely didn't choose because they were on Isabela's aphrodisiac menu, but on the way back from the store, he certainly had a mini-crisis about whether or not Fenris would think that.

He carries the plates into the living room, where Fenris is sitting on the sofa reading something on his tablet. He comes over, lights the candles, and then looks down at the food with another unreadable expression.

"Is it okay?” Hawke asks, suddenly worried. “I've seen you eat similar things, so-"

"It's not that," Fenris says, shaking his head. His hand is tight on the back of the chair. "No-one's ever cooked for me before. Especially not something like this. I - I don't know what to say."

" _Thank you_ 's the usual response," Hawke says, with a smile, and it coaxes one from Fenris as well.

"Thank you," he says, and then kisses Hawke.

They eat, and the food is amazing, if Hawke says so himself. The wine's not bad either, and the company? The company is best of all. Fenris tells him about his day, about the mob of customers he and Tamlen had to deal with. Hawke could listen to him for hours, honestly. That voice is just incredible.

"But I was thinking," Fenris says, as they're finishing up the cheesecake. "We should play _Champion of Kirkwall._ Together."

"Amazing idea," Hawke says immediately. "Now?” 

Fenris agrees, and as he turns on the console and starts the game, Hawke pours more wine. Fenris offers him the controller, but Hawke shakes his head.

"Your house, your game."

Fenris shrugs and then sits on the sofa, curling his feet under him and leaning against Hawke. Biting his lip, Hawke puts his arm over Fenris's shoulders, and Fenris leans further into him. Hawke smiles, widely. Coming back to Fenris's apartment today was one of the best decisions he's ever made.

The game loads and the theme music for the menu screen starts to play. Hawke is simultaneously filled with nostalgia and the kind of excitement that comes with something new. Not the new game - this thing with Fenris. Maybe a little bit the new game - it's been a long time since he played.

Fenris takes a drink of wine, and then hits 'New Game'.

It starts with a cut scene of the storyteller, insisting that the following is all true, while the knight looks on sceptically. Hawke's excitement increases.

Finally they get to the character creation screen. There's the Champion: black hair, brown eyes, magnificent beard.

"We're sticking with the default, of course," Fenris says, and then looks up at Hawke and shakes his head. "I can't believe how much you look like him."

Hawke grins. "Roguish, heroic, devilishly handsome?"

"Exactly." Fenris runs his index finger over the scar at the bridge of Hawke's nose. "Your scar even matches his war paint."

"It wasn't on purpose, honest. I got it when I was a teenager, actually. Car crash."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. Totally not my fault. It made me pretty self-conscious for a while, when I was in high school," Hawke says, touching it. He spent a lot of high school feeling self-conscious, to be honest. Being a six foot tall fourteen year old will do that to you. "I kind of like it now, though."

"As you said: roguish."

"Sexy?"

Fenris laughs then and leans up to kiss the scar, then the new one above his eyebrow. There's a flutter in Hawke's chest. "Very sexy." He pulls away, but only so that he can kiss Hawke's lips instead,a decision Hawke very much approves of. His hands go to Fenris's waist, and Fenris puts the controller down so that he can concentrate on the kiss. His lips slide over Hawke's while the game music plays in the background, and he tastes of wine, and he's warm, and bloody hell but he's a good kisser. When he pulls away both of them are breathing heavily, and Hawke's a little hard. He can feel the warmth of Fenris's breath on his lips.

"Thank you for giving me another chance," he says, voice quiet. "For forgiving me. I should never have left you."

"It's okay," Hawke says, kissing Fenris's forehead tattoo, where it's hidden under his hair. "I understand. Especially now that you've told me everything that Danarius did to you."

"And you're okay with - taking this slowly?"

"I want you to feel safe, Fenris; I want you to be happy. We'll go as slowly as you need."

Fenris nods, and then rests his forehead against Hawke's. They stay like that for a moment, Fenris's hands resting on Hawke's shoulders, Hawke's hands on Fenris's waist, and then Fenris kisses him again and smiles, before drinking more wine and picking up the controller again.

Together they choose their Champion's stats, and start the game, both yelling - mostly Hawke - when the sibling dies at the beginning. He's overacting to cover the fact that it actually does fucking hurt to see the Champion's brother die, but he thinks Fenris understands. He doesn't say anything, but he picks Hawke's hand up and kisses it.

Hawke's glad when that bit's over, and they can get on with the game proper. Fenris chooses to ignore the family bit for now - the grieving mother - and Hawke's grateful. Instead they kill a bunch of bandits, raiders, and other assorted bad guys. At one point they go into a cave and giant spiders descend, and Fenris swears, looking away from the TV and button smashing.

"I fucking hate spiders," he says, and lets Hawke take the controller away from him to take care of it. Secretly, Hawke hates spiders, too, but he can be brave for Fenris. When the area is clear of the not-so-little bastards, Hawke hands the controller back, and Fenris kisses him. "My hero," he says, and Hawke preens, just a little.

As they run around the streets of Kirkwall, Hawke's filled with a pang of nostalgia. He fucking _loves_ this game. It got him through some tough times - and Fenris, too, Hawke guesses. It means something special to both of them - and it means something that they're playing it together, too. They discuss what kind of personality their Champion is going to have - mostly diplomatic but with more than a splash of sarcasm - _like you,_ Fenris says, and Hawke grins, taking it as a compliment. They decide to do every single secondary quest available, because the Champion is a goddamn hero, and if someone has lost five coppers, then it's his duty to return them, damn it.

They meet up with the storyteller and start earning money towards the first big quest, and then Hawke notices the time. He's shocked; it's been three hours. He remembers the way this game used to eat time, but jesus.

“Let's keep playing until we meet the elf, and then we could order pizza or something,” Fenris says, then pauses. “Unless you want to get home?”

“No. I'm perfectly happy where I am,” Hawke says, and Fenris smiles, leaning into him as he plays. 

When the elf walks on screen an hour later, talking about his tragic past, Hawke swallows. 

“He really does look like you,” he says,and Fenris grins at him. 

“Apart from the ears,” he says, touching his own, non-pointy ones, then, thoughtful, adds, “Though I suppose I could wear prosthetics.”

Hawke raises an eyebrow. “Are you talking about kinky roleplay, Fenris? Because I can say right now, I would absolutely, one hundred percent be up for that. The armour's a bit spiky though.”

Fenris laughs. Pausing the game, he puts the controller on the table. 

“I'm not sure I'm _quite_ ready for kinky roleplay yet, Hawke.”

“To be honest, I'm not sure I am, either. Might make me a bit flustered.”

“Just a bit?”

Hawke lifts a hand, a tiny bit of space between finger and thumb. “Tiny bit. You know me. Always cool. Super chill.”

Fenris snorts, and puts a hand to Hawke's neck. His gaze drops down, and he bites his lip, fingers tugging aside his collar and then running lightly over a spot on his neck. Hawke's confused for a moment until he remembers last night, remembers Fenris marking Hawke as his. 

_Oh._

“You're not chill, but you're bloody gorgeous,” Fenris says, soft, rough. “I've been thinking about you all day. This morning – you sitting there in my bed, in nothing but your underwear. God, Hawke.” He's still stroking the love bite, but his eyes meet Hawke's. “I've been half-hard all day, and I want you. I want you so much.”

Hawke swallows, nods. “Do you – are you...?”

Fenris pauses, then grabs Hawke's lapels and pulls him in. 

The kiss is breathless, desperate, brimming over with need. Tongue and lips, and touches everywhere. Hawke aches with how much he wants this, a whole-body kind of ache. Fenris's touches get bolder, his hands going under Hawke's t-shirt, nails scraping lightly over his back, his sides, over his nipples. When Hawke moans, Fenris pushes him down onto his back and then clambers on top of him, straddling him. With their hips pressed together Hawke can feel that he's hard, they're both hard, and that feels so _good_. Fenris circles his hips against Hawke's and then grins when Hawke whines. 

“I like that sound, Hawke,” he says, and does it again. Hawke obediently whines again, and then yelps when Fenris reaches a hand between them and grabs Hawke's cock through his jeans. 

“Fenris,” he gasps, staring up at him. Fenris is still touching him, tracing the outline of him, looking down and biting his lip. 

“I think,” Fenris starts, and then looks up at Hawke. “I think I want to see it. You.”

“Fuck,” is all Hawke can manage, and then Fenris is kissing him again, messy and desperate, still palming his cock. 

This is – this is good. Really good. Hawke is desperately trying to stay – objective, or _something,_ he's trying to make sure that Fenris is ready for this, that he's not pushing himself. But he seems sure of himself, of what he wants. He did _then,_ too; but if they're just - if this is just going to be a handjob, it still counts as going slow, Hawke decides. 

This time when Fenris breaks the kiss, breathing hard, he sits up, still straddling Hawke, still stroking him through his jeans. 

Hawke stays where he is, on his back, reaching behind him to push the cushions into a more comfortable position. He looks up at Fenris, watches him as he continues to touch Hawke, exploring. It feels good - _god_ it feels good – but Hawke is in no hurry. He lets Fenris take all the time he wants. 

Fenris pushes Hawke's t-shirt up to reveal his waistband, then after a moment's thought, pushes it up further. 

“Off,” he says, and Hawke obediently lifts up from the sofa, pulls off shirt then t-shirt, before settling back down. Fenris gazes down at him for a moment, and the hunger in his eyes takes Hawke's breath away. 

Someone who looks like Fenris, looking at him like this? It's the best feeling in the world. 

Or it is until Fenris's hand goes back to his cock, squeezing him gently. That? That feels even better.

“Fuck,” Hawke breathes, letting his head fall back, his eyes closed, sinking into the delicious sensation of Fenris touching him. The heat of his hand, the weight of it, the _realness_ of it. Of course Hawke's thought about this, fantasised about this happening. But the reality of it is something else. And Fenris going so slowly somehow makes it even hotter, because he's going at his own pace, he's doing what's right for him, and the thing that Hawke wants most in all the world is for Fenris to be safe and happy. 

Fenris's hands go to Hawke's waistband. The tips of his fingers curl under it, his right thumb circling the button of his jeans. 

This moment should feel fragile, Hawke thinks suddenly, inanely. But it doesn't. Fenris is taking it slow, but he isn't hesitating. And he's thought about this too. He said he's thought about _all kinds_ of things with Hawke. 

_Like fucking me,_ his brain helpfully adds, and Hawke swallows. 

“I want,” Fenris starts, then looks back down at Hawke's fly. When he looks up again, his gaze is certain, his voice is too. “I want to touch you. With nothing in the way.”

“Are you sure? Really sure?”

“Incredibly sure.”

Hawke nods, and Fenris unzips his fly, very slowly. Beneath are Hawke's boxer briefs – one of his best pairs, red plaid, and a smile skips over Fenris's lips when he sees it. 

“Did you really match your underwear to your shirt?”

“...Not on purpose.” He didn't even notice until now. Clearly, he's just naturally stylish.

Fenris grins, and runs his fingers over Hawke's cock once more. With only the thin cotton of the briefs between them now it's much more intense, and Hawke makes a very embarrassing sound, especially when Fenris wraps his fingers around Hawke's cock and strokes him. 

“Jesus,” he gasps, and Fenris doesn't stop. He keeps going, and Hawke isn't sure how much of this he can take. “Fenris-”

Apparently Fenris isn't in the mood to tease, for he pulls out Hawke's cock, and the skin to skin contact is almost too much. Hawke doesn't even make a sound, he just lies there, his mouth open, staring up at Fenris, who is gazing down at Hawke's cock. So Hawke looks too, and _seeing_ it is even better. Fenris's tattooed hand, those long fingers, wrapped around him, stroking him slowly. 

“I want you to do the same for me,” Fenris says, and Hawke nods, reaching with shaking hands to Fenris's fly, unzipping, forcing himself to pause and look up at Fenris. He nods, and Hawke slowly strokes his thumb across the waistband, through the slender trail of dark hair that disappears beneath it. And even though he's seen his cock before, that was different, that – it felt amazing but everything went to hell and that was-

Hawke bites his lip. 

This time will be different. 

This time everything will go right. 

“Please, Hawke,” Fenris asks, the slightest hint of desperation in his voice. “Please. I need – I want to feel your hand on me. I want – I've thought about this so many times.”

“Oh?”

Fenris makes a frustrated noise and with his spare hand, pulls his own cock out of his briefs. Hawke sees the tattoos there and feels another one-two punch of lust, then anger at Danarius for hurting Fenris like this. He pushes the anger away; this is about Fenris, only Fenris. About what he wants. And he wants Hawke to make him feel good. 

So he will. 

Slowly, he wraps his hand around Fenris's cock and starts to stroke. He's rewarded with a smirk, and a whole-body shiver. 

“Yes,” Fenris hisses, and he strokes Hawke a little faster. Hawke mirrors the movement, letting Fenris set the pace. 

They start slow and gentle, both of them watching the other, watching their reactions; at first, it's to make sure Fenris isn't rushing into things he's not ready for, but it becomes more than that. Fenris is beautiful, he's _always_ beautiful, but like this, he's so _open,_ so – so _vulnerable,_ and the thought that he's letting Hawke see him like this is almost too much. 

And the way that Fenris is making him _feel_. Slowly they speed up, and when Fenris tightens his grip on Hawke, Hawke does the same to him, and they both gasp, shiver. 

God, it's just- It's so _good_ , it's-

It's just a hand job, but it's not, because this is _Fenris_. This is everything, this is more than Hawke thought he could have, and it's just-

“Fenris,” Hawke whispers and looks up at Fenris, whose breath is coming fast, whose mouth has dropped open, whose eyes are dark and green, who is everything Hawke has ever wanted and he's here, he's right here with Hawke and they're doing this, they're together and they-

Fenris tightens his grip, ever so slightly and that's it. Hawke comes _hard,_ his back arching off the sofa and fuck fuck _fuck_. 

Everything fades out for a few seconds, warm and fuzzy. There's no thought, no anything apart from the ebbing pleasure and the feel of Fenris's hand still around his cock. 

That was just... 

Yeah. Wow. 

Hawke opens his eyes with a little difficulty, and grins up at Fenris. 

“Fenris,” he murmurs, the only word he can remember, then only one that matters. Fenris chuckles, and then wraps his own hand over Hawke's, the one curled around Fenris's cock. The one that has, Hawke realises, come to a standstill. He lifts his head, trying to rouse himself into action. Fenris gave him one of the best orgasms he can ever remember having, it's only fair that he return the favour. 

For a moment, as Hawke comes back to himself, Fenris moves their hands together, fingers interlocked, so that both of them are stroking him. He _mmm_ s and when Hawke looks up at him, he's smiling, his eyes at half mast, and he's looking down at Hawke. 

“'s good,” he says, and moves their hands a little faster. “Good for you?”

“So good. Just – god, Fenris. So good.”

Another _mmm_ and then they're stroking a little faster, together. Fenris's breathing comes quicker, too, and he's still looking down at Hawke, holding his gaze. And Hawke remembers this, remembers Fenris needing to see _him._

“I'm here, Fenris,” Hawke says, babbles, still only half coherent. “I'm here for you, always. I want to make you feel good, _always,_ I want to make you come.”

“You're mine?” There's a sharpness in the question, under the roughness of the need, and Hawke nods instantly, decisively. 

“All yours, Fenris. All yours.”

“Good,” Fenris says, then, “Fuck.” He arches over Hawke's body, bracing his spare hand against the arm of the sofa, behind Hawke's head. And they're still stroking him, together, a little faster now, a little harder, and Fenris is gasping, and then with the softest moan he's coming over Hawke's stomach, his chest. His eyes close and Hawke can feel him shiver just before he collapses onto Hawke's body, breathing hard. He extricates his hand from Hawke's to grab his shoulder, hard, and Hawke wraps his arms tightly around Fenris. 

They lie there, together, blissed out and _immensely_ satisfied, with the music of the _Champion of Kirkwall_ in the background. 

This might just be the best day of Hawke's life.

“I'm here,” he says, and kisses Fenris's cheek. “And you're here.”

Fenris lifts his head and gives Hawke a stunningly beautiful smile, his gaze warm and green and relaxed, then kisses him, slow and sweet. 

“That was amazing,” he says, almost purrs. 

“It really was.”

“We should get cleaned up. And then – pizza?”

“Pizza sounds fantastic,” Hawke says, starting to feel hungry. But when Fenris settles back down for more cuddles, Hawke definitely does not complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to share [this amazing fanart of Deep Roads!](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/139011176135/moustashleigh-the-deep-roads-is-closed-for-the) Doesn't it look amazing? I can totally see Hawke and Fenris standing outside together, hand in hand <3
> 
> And while I'm here, I might as well also point out [my tags on this (nsfw!) post](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/139238385964/eroticco-magazine-skin-model-david-mcmanley), which is something I should totally write.


	31. Chapter 31

The following Friday, it's back to business as usual: drinks at the Hanged Man.

Fenris said he'd come, so Hawke has chosen his outfit carefully. The t-shirt clings to his muscles nicely, showing off his pecs and shoulders; the jeans show off his thighs and ass. Since the weather has been warmer lately, he's just wearing a thick plaid shirt over the t-shirt - and yes, he's wearing a different pair of plaid boxer-briefs to match, on the off chance Fenris might see them. Not that he's _expecting_ anything, but after last weekend Hawke can't help but hope for more of the same.

On Saturday after playing _Champion_ \- and of course the incredible handjobs - they'd had pizza and more wine, and an epic make out session on Fenris's sofa that was almost as good as the orgasm. Fenris had suggested that Hawke stay over again, and of course Hawke had agreed. 

Sunday morning was spent cuddling and kissing and talking in bed, then they spent the rest of the day in Brighton, having a pub lunch and walking down the seafront hand in hand. It's easily the most time they've spent in each others company, and if it had been planned in advance Hawke would probably have fretted over it. But everything happened naturally and easily, and he honestly can't remember a time when he's been happier.

Tonight is the first time Hawke's seen him since then other than the all-too-brief meetings to buy morning coffee, and as he stands at the bar, waiting to be served, Hawke can't stop smiling. He feels like a love struck teenager, and half of that is one hundred percent true.

The pub is busy, even more than usual. After spying Isabela at their usual table with a glass of wine in one hand and her phone in the other, he heads straight to the bar. It takes him five full minutes to get served. The people around him are unusually smart for this place - suits and other forms of business dress. Hawke suspects a conference nearby. He gets himself a beer and buys Fenris a glass of wine since he should be here soon.

Hawke's barely sat down at their usual, graffitied table before Isabela pounces on him.

"So," she says, with a smirk that gives Hawke an idea of what's coming next. "Merrill tells me Fenris took you home last Friday."

"He did. And I stayed on Saturday night, too."

She grabs his forearm in a vicelike grip. "Tell me everything, Hawke."

"I don't kiss and tell, Isabela." He takes a sip of his beer and then grins at her. "I don't do other, incredible things and tell, either."

She groans and sits back, folding her arms. "You're no fun, Hawke."

"I think Fenris might disagree."

"I would? About what?" Fenris has appeared at the end of the table, having arrived while Hawke was distracted by teasing Isabela.

"About me being no fun."

Fenris pulls off his beanie and stashes it in his bag before sliding into the booth next to Hawke. Grabbing his thigh and kissing him soundly, he grins. "I think you're a _lot_ of fun, Hawke."

"You're both terrible," she says. "But at least I have this to fuel my imagination." She shows them the picture she's just taken on her phone, of their kiss. They look so good together, god.

"You should send me that," Hawke says, and Isabela raises an eyebrow.

"You should tell me what you and Fenris did last weekend."

"I told you, I don't kiss and tell."

Isabela groans and puts her phone away in a very deliberate manner without sending the photo, but it's worth it for when Fenris smiles and takes Hawke's hand. He leans against him a little, and Hawke tries not to grin. He's so warm, and Hawke can't help but notice how strong, how hard Fenris's thigh is. He wants to touch, and then realises that he can. Putting a hand to Fenris's knee, first, he looks at him out of the corner of his eye and raises his eyebrow questioningly. Fenris nods, ever so slightly. As Hawke slowly runs his hand up Fenris's thigh, he smiles to see him bite his lip. 

“If you're being indecent, at least have the manners to do it where we can all see,” Isabela says, and Hawke grins at her. 

“Sorry,” he says. He isn't. “Where's Varric, anyway?”

"He had to take a phone call. Bianca, I think. More importantly, where's Aveline? Please tell me that she took Donnic home on Wednesday and has been shagging him ever since."

Hawke snorts. "Not likely. She didn't bloody show up. Or rather, she did - she came into the pub, took one wide-eyed look at me sitting with Donnic, then shook her head before running off."

"Nooo," Isabela says and then laughs heartily. "Oh, I am _never_ going to let her live this down."

"What's this?" Fenris asks, sipping his wine. Normally Hawke might keep Aveline's secrets for her, but this was not a normal situation. It was the most terribly, horrifically awkward evening of Hawke's life, and he's had more than his fair share of awkward evenings.

"You know that Aveline likes this guy, Donnic?” Fenris nods; Hawke's mentioned him a few times. “She came up with this idea for me to invite him to the pub, and then she'd 'just happen' to come along and start chatting to him. But she wimps out, leaving me making awkward small talk with this bloke I barely know. And you know me - not the best at small talk."

"Not the best at most kinds of talk," Isabela says with a sweet smile, and Hawke glares at her for a moment before conceding that she's right.

"Thing is, it gets worse. As we're finishing our drinks he goes really still. He looks at me across the table and says _I just realised what this is - I'm sorry Hawke, but I'm straight_. And all I can do is sit there, mortified and stammering, as he goes on telling me that I'm handsome and he's sure I'll find the right man."

Both Isabela and Fenris are laughing now and Hawke's grinning but he's also still kind of pissed off. He has to work with him, and they'd had a decent relationship before this. Aveline has flat-out refused to tell Donnic the truth which leaves Hawke in a very uncomfortable position.

"Did you tell him that you've already found the right man?" Fenris asks, and just like that, Hawke's annoyance evaporates like morning dew.

"I didn't, but I have," he says, and leans in to kiss Fenris gently.

He shouldn't be angry at Aveline, he decides; not when she's still pining, and Hawke has Fenris.

Varric finally turns up half an hour later, and starts catching up on the drinks he's missed. He waves off Hawke's concern when he asks if he's alright, giving a grin and a glib answer, but Hawke's not fooled. Bianca was supposed to be coming to London next week - it looks like the visit is off. He doesn't push it, just holds Fenris's hand a little tighter.

After one more drink, Fenris surprises Hawke by saying he's going to head off; it's not even ten o'clock.

Still, Hawke goes with him to the station, as if there was any doubt.

On the platform, Fenris takes Hawke's hand, something that makes Hawke smile instantly. He turns to look at Fenris, who's gazing straight ahead at the ad on the wall opposite.

"You know, Hawke," Fenris says. "I'm closing at work tomorrow, so I'm only starting at twelve."

"Oh?"

"Yes. So I'm thinking that you should take me home with you."

Hawke's mouth drops open and he tries to think of something to say. "Oh?" Is all he manages. His brain is filled with all kinds of images - kissing, cuddling, _more_. He doesn't know what Fenris has in mind but he hopes it's at least one of those.

"Mmm. We could watch an episode of that show you keep talking about,” Fenris says, then glances up at Hawke. The green fire in his eyes steals Hawke's breath. “And maybe more."

"I'd like that," Hawke murmurs as the train pulls in.

They get on with the rest of the Friday night rabble, and as always seems to happen, they end up pressed close together. It makes Hawke a little dizzy, especially since his head is whirling with ideas about what might happen next. 

By the time they change lines and get out towards Canary Wharf the crowds ease off. They're still standing, but they don't need to be pressed so close together; however Fenris's hands on Hawke's hips keep him exactly where he is.

"Being with you makes public transport a lot easier to deal with," Fenris says, smiling up at him.

"Everything is better when you're with me," Hawke says, and he doesn't mean to sound quite as smitten as he does.

"Agreed," Fenris murmurs, placing his hands on Hawke's chest, then sliding them up to his neck. He pauses there for a moment, hands at either side of his neck, fingers stroking over his bearded jawline. Hawke wonders if Fenris can feel how fast his heart is racing.

Then slowly Fenris pulls Hawke down and their lips meet. Little kisses, soft, slow. Hawke wants to deepen the kiss - he wants to slide his tongue into Fenris's mouth, to taste him, to bite his lips. But more than that he wants Fenris to feel in control. Coming back to Hawke's flat to stay over is even bigger than Hawke staying at his place, and more important than anything else is that Fenris feels safe. Besides, there's something achingly intimate about these sweet little kisses, like they're sharing a part of themselves with each other with every kiss. Hawke aches with it, with how much he wants Fenris, with how deeply he cares for him.

"Fenris," Hawke whispers after one kiss.

"Hawke," Fenris whispers after the next.

The train empties out as they get further east, and they move to take a seat. Leaning against each other, holding hands, they don't talk much, but they don't need to. Want is a constant presence, and Hawke can feel it with every heartbeat. He thinks Fenris feels it too; something about the way he keeps their thighs pressed together, the way his hand strokes down Hawke's bicep, making him shiver.

When the train pulls into Greenwich, the walk to Hawke's flat is an exercise in patience. Every so often Fenris will untangle their hands, but only so that he can scratch his nails lightly down Hawke's back, over his ass. More than once when he does that Hawke moans, soft and low, unable to stop himself, and Fenris smiles.

By the time they get to the flat, Hawke's hard and a little bit desperate, and he really, really hopes Fenris has plans.

As he puts the key in the front door he's rather hoping for Fenris to push him against the wall in the hallway again, but when he opens the door he's startled to see that piece of real estate is already taken.

Anders is there with a guy Hawke doesn't know, who looks too young for his grey hair and beard. They're entirely distracted by each other – kissing, grinding – so much so that they haven't noticed they have an audience.

Hawke clears his throat, and the stranger jerks away from Anders, pink-cheeked and blinking at Hawke. Anders just gives a lazy, crooked smile that Hawke knows very well. It makes his heart thump a little harder, which makes him feel rather uncomfortable, considering the situation.

"Hello, Hawke," Anders says, pushing against the wall to stand upright. He frowns when he sees Fenris but apparently decides to ignore him. "Karl, this is Hawke, my neighbour. Hawke, this is Karl. We work together."

_Is that what you're calling it?_ Hawke thinks, amused.

"Pleased to meet you. This is Fenris," Hawke says, putting his arm around Fenris's waist. Fenris's eyes are narrowed at Anders, and Anders is frowning at him again. Since they obviously all have much more interesting things to do than watch Fenris and Anders glare at each other, Hawke steers Fenris towards the door to his flat. "So, uh, we'll leave you to it. Have a good evening," he says as he gets his door open.

"You too," Karl says. "Maybe we can go out for a drink sometime, the four of us? It would be nice to meet some of Anders's friends."

"Sure!" Hawke says, a little too loudly, then waves goodbye.

As the door closes behind them, he winces.

Yikes.

Fenris frowns at the door - or more accurately, Hawke's pretty sure, at Anders on the other side of it - and then shakes his head as if clearing it.

"So," Hawke says. "You want a drink, or-"

"Actually," Fenris says, smiling, wolf-like, all thoughts of Anders apparently vanished. "I have something else in mind."

"A good something else?"

Fenris studies him, and his wolf-smile grows a little wider. "I seem to remember you give excellent blow jobs."

Hawke's mouth works silently for a moment as his brain tries to convince him that yes, Fenris did actually just say that. "I do try."

"Perhaps you could try now."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," Fenris says, still smiling, and kisseds Hawke as he pulls him towards the sofa. After few bumped shinbones, a few book piles scattered, they make it, sinking down onto the cushions, still kissing, touching, breathless.

“You're sure you're sure?” Hawke asks, and Fenris hisses. 

“Damn it, Hawke, I'm _sure.”_

“I just want to know that you're not going to – panic, or-.”

Fenris looks him straight in the eyes and says, “I am absolutely sure that I want you to suck my cock. Now.”

Well. 

What else can Hawke do but sink to the floor between Fenris's legs? 

He already has his thighs apart, ready, and Hawke licks his lips, running his hands over them. Slim with strong muscles; they're long too, like the rest of him. He's not _tall_ , not compared to Hawke, but he's got supermodel proportions, long slender limbs and striking looks. He smiles, and Fenris raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that you look like a supermodel."

A moment of silence, and then a chuckle. "The things you say, Hawke."

"But it's the things I do that matter, right?"

"Indeed. So are you planning on getting on with this any time soon?"

"Impatient," Hawke says, but he obediently unzips Fenris's jeans. It reveals a triangle of grey briefs, and the outline of his hard cock. It will forever be one of the hottest things Hawke has ever seen. He wants to touch it. To taste him. He glances up at him again, and he's still smirking, still looking up for this, and Hawke gives in. He leans in - fuck, the _smell_ of him - and licks him, mouths him through the cotton. Fenris swears, and one of his hands goes to Hawke's hair, curling into a fist. He doesn't tell him to stop, so Hawke keeps at it, licking, touching, taking the head into his mouth.

"Fuck, Hawke," Fenris groans. He's breathing heavily now - Hawke is too, and he's just as hard as Fenris is, his cock pressing painfully against his zipper. He ignores it; Fenris's pleasure is more important right now. Another glance up at him reveals lidded eyes, and as he watches Fenris licks his lips. "I'm fine, Hawke. If it gets too much, I'll tell you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He'll still keep an eye on him, but that's good enough for Hawke. He tugs Fenris's briefs down enough to release his cock and balls, and runs his fingers through the dark hair at the base of his cock. Fenris gives a noise that sounds an awful lot like a growl, and it goes straight to Hawke's dick. He bites his lip, achingly hard, and then leans in to taste Fenris's cock. The growl becomes a groan, and Hawke glances up to see Fenris let his head fall to rest on the back of the sofa.

For a moment Hawke watches, transfixed, as Fenris's chest rises and falls with his breathing, but then he says, deep and rough and _desperate_ , "Get on with it, Hawke, _please,"_ and that's not the kind of request Hawke can refuse.

He licks him, cups his balls, takes the head in his mouth while jerking him off. God, the _noises_ Fenris makes, Hawke could listen to them forever. Keeping one hand at the base of his cock, the other goes to Fenris's stomach, sliding under his t-shirt and splaying there. His fingers roam over the hardness of his muscles and god, _god_.

Slowly Hawke takes him deeper, inch by inch, and Fenris is swearing again. His hand is still in Hawke's hair, pulling now - not pulling away, just _pulling_ , with a sharp twinge of pain that makes Hawke moan with Fenris's cock filling his mouth. He's never been into pain - honestly, he's kind of a wimp - but this? This, apparently, he likes. So he doesn't say anything; he just takes Fenris deeper, deeper, swallowing slowly, carefully, until the whole length of his cock is in his mouth, his throat.

"Hawke," Fenris says brokenly, but when Hawke looks up to check he's alright, he looks in awe. "So good," he whispers, with another _fuck_ for good measure.

Hawke's good at deep-throating. It's been a while since he did it, but he had a sort-of-boyfriend in uni that was _amazing_ at it, and he taught Hawke everything he knew. Anders said he gave the best head he'd ever had, and from what he said, he's had a _lot_ of head; it was probably one of the nicest things he ever said to him.

That's what he wants to give Fenris: the best blow job he's ever had. He wants to make Fenris feel incredible, and by the sounds of it, it's happening. Fenris is breathing hard, cursing under his breath, his voice even deeper and richer than normal. His fingers are still in Hawke's hair, holding it a little tighter now, and Hawke can feel Fenris's thigh shake under his hand.

"Hawke," Fenris cries, and he glances up to see his pink cheeks, his mouth open as he breathes hard, his eyes half-closed. "Hawke, Hawke, please, I need to come."

Hawke needs him to come to, more than he wants to come himself, even if his own cock is achingly heavy in his jeans. He pulls back to the head and then slides his lips down again, fucking his mouth down onto Fenris's cock, taking the whole length of it. God, Hawke loves doing this, loves being filled by another man's cock like this, loves the weight of it on his tongue and thickness of it, the length of it filling him up. He always loves giving blow jobs, but doing this for Fenris makes it even better, especially since Fenris is making so much noise. It started as whispers, but as Hawke keeps going, taking him deep again and again, he gets ever louder and louder as he's getting close. Only half of the words are in English, and that's hot, why is that so hot?

And then Fenris gives a wordless cry as his hips lift, thrusting all the way into Hawke's mouth as he comes, hand tangling in Hawke's hair to keep him in place as he spills into Hawke's throat.

He collapses onto the sofa, putting his forearm over his eyes as he gasps for air. Hawke clambers onto the sofa next to him, kissing his shoulder, his neck as he reaches for the button of his jeans, but he pauses there, and murmurs, "Fenris, can I - I need to come, are you - can I-"

"Yes," Fenris gasps, nods, and Hawke pulls his own cock out of his jeans, groaning at how good it feels not to be trapped any more. Fenris kisses him as he jerks himself off, both of them breathless, and Fenris reaches down to help too, his fingers slotting between Hawke's and fuck, _yes_ , that feels good.

They don't break the kiss, not even as Hawke whispers _I'm gonna come_ into Fenris's mouth, as pleasure chokes him and claims him. He comes onto his stomach, over both of their hands, cries out into the kiss, Fenris's other hand in his hair again. He's shaking now, breathing hard, and Fenris pulls back a little to look down at their hands.

"You like to swallow, Hawke?"

"Uh - uh-huh," Hawke manages, barely able to concentrate on Fenris's words, never mind form his own.

"Hmm," Fenris says, lifting his hand to his own mouth and licking it clean of Hawke's come before grabbing Hawke's hand and doing the same to his, his gaze holding Hawke's.

"Fuck," Hawke whispers hoarsely and pulls Fenris in for a kiss, tasting himself on Fenris's tongue. Still shaking and with a head full of sparks from one of the best orgasms of his life, the kiss is slow and slightly off kilter until Fenris takes over, and Hawke is more than happy for him to have control. He keeps it slow, and deep, pressing his tongue into Hawke's mouth, over his teeth, biting at his lips.

"That was amazing," he says after a moment, and grins at Hawke. "Even better than I remembered."

"It's a special talent of mine," Hawke manages, and Fenris laughs, nodding.

"It truly is." He kisses Hawke again, and then drops his head to rest in the crook of Hawke's shoulder, wrapping both arms around him. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Hawke whispers, kissing the top of his head and holding him tight.

"Bed?"

"Not sure I can stand just yet."

Fenris laughs, and snuggles even closer. Hawke can only smile. He has Fenris, here, in his arms. He can taste him on his tongue. He's about to have him in his bed.

He's the luckiest damn man on the planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being awesome. Feedback means everything and I love you for it. Sorry I've been a bit lax with replying to your comments, I'll get back to them shortly but for now, know that I am so grateful for everyone that takes the time to comment, here or on tumblr <3
> 
> PS The Long Road is my favourite quest. Aveline is amazing.


	32. Chapter 32

"I bet that would bring a fortune on the black market," Isabela says. 

She's talking about the Scottish Crown Jewels, encased in glass and glittering under bright lights. The crown itself is red and gold with lots of gems – basically the exact thing you imagine when you hear _crown jewels_. It sits alongside a sword and a sceptre, equally sparkly, and a rather unassuming looking stone. 

Hawke looks worriedly from Isabela to the security guard in the corner of the room, who's looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"She's joking," Hawke says, a little too loudly in the small room, and looks at her. "Aren't you?"

She smiles at him and gives a cheeky smile. "Of course," she says, but when they leave the room she leans in and whispers, "I wasn't."

Hawke rolls his eyes and pushes away the tiny bit of panic that lingers. Isabela isn't a thief, and she's certainly not got some kind of _Ocean's Eleven_ master criminal thing going on.

Or at least, he assumes not.

One can never quite tell with Isabela. 

They step out into the chilly Scottish air, into a courtyard of Edinburgh Castle. On the roofs of the buildings around them, the Scottish and Union flags whip in the wind. Above, the sky is the deep and endless blue of a cold but glorious day.

For at least the tenth time this trip, Hawke thinks how nice it is to get out of London, if only for a long weekend. It would have been nicer still if Fenris was here, especially with how much he loves castles; but his family and Isabela still make it pretty darn awesome.

His mum and Bethany are leaning against a wall across the courtyard, chatting, and Hawke smiles, thinking how pleased he is that Isabela is here too. It's a sign she's serious about Bethany - as if the fact that they've been together for months wasn't sign enough.

They regroup and make their way towards the exit, having seen all they wanted to see; the Crown Jewels were the last stop. They take lots of pictures as they go, and Bethany insists on lots of group selfies, letting Hawke take them since he has the longest arms.

When they get outside the castle walls, his mum rubs her hands together. “I could do with something to warm me up a bit.”

“And I could use some food,” Bethany says. “I'm _starving.”_

It's not hard to find somewhere to eat; if there's one thing Edinburgh isn't short of, it's cafes and restaurants. Those, and shops selling tourist tat, and _no_ , Hawke isn't going to buy a kilt, no matter how many times Isabela suggests it. 

They decide on a place just outside the castle grounds. They settle down at a table, with soup and toasted sandwiches to warm up. There's cake, and tea in a cute teapot, too, and Hawke takes a picture of everything and sends it to Fenris with a message of _wish you were here xxxx_.

**_Fenris_ ** _(14:12)_  
_Me too. Maybe next time._

**_Hawke_** _(14:12)_  
_Yes! Although if you were here I think we'd spend more time in our hotel room_

Then, overcome by a spike of anxiety about sounding too pushy, he adds,

**_Hawke_ ** _(14:12)_  
_Cuddling I mean_

**_Fenris_** _(14:13)_  
_Not *just* cuddling I hope ;)_

"Garrett," his mother says, sounding exasperated, and Hawke puts his phone facedown on the table.

"Sorry."

"He was texting Fenris," Isabela says, with a grin, licking cream off her finger. "I can tell by the look on his face."

Bethany laughs and nods, leaning against Isabela's shoulder. "It's true. You're an open book, brother dear."

"And you're ganging up on me,” Hawke moans. “Again. Why do people always gang up on me?!"

"Probably because you're so easy to tease, dear," his mother says, reaching across the table to pat his hand.

She's probably right.

They head to a whisky tasting experience next, and when his mum insists on paying for them all, Hawke takes the opportunity to text Fenris back,

**_Hawke_** _(14:38)_  
_We'd do anything you wanted. *Anything*_

He then quickly puts his phone away before his mum notices. Isabela and Bethany notice though, and both of them make hand-hearts at him and fake swoon, giggling.

Hawke sighs, but he smiles, too. They're right - he is pretty pathetic. But he's pretty damn happy, too, and that makes it all worth it.

The whisky tour is, of course, an essential part of a visit to Scotland – or that's their excuse, anyway. As well as an explanation of the different kinds of whisky made in different areas of the country and a ride in a whisky barrell, it also includes tasting rather a lot of of the stuff. By the time they're done, Hawke is feeling a little tipsy. When Mum says she's heading back to the hotel for a bit, Hawke elects to go with her rather than going shopping with Isabela and Bethany.

“Lightweight,” Isabela murmurs as she passes him, giving him a wink. 

Hawke is looking forward to warming up and having a lie down – an often underrated treat – but when he gets his phone out again, the various texts from Fenris about all of the many, many things he'd do to Hawke if they were together change his mind.

He texts Fenris; Fenris texts back. They both have lots and lots of ideas about how to make each other feel _good_ , and Hawke feels _very_ relaxed afterwards.

In fact, he falls asleep, and only wakes up when someone starts banging at his door.

He jerks awake, blinking, and stands up groggily. He goes to the door and through the spy hole sees a distorted version of Isabela. Reaching for the handle he realises he isn't wearing pants and goes to pull on his pyjamas to the sound of her knocking again and yelling his name.

He opens the door and looks at her. She's wearing a very nice dress, white and form-fitting, with a wide belt and a chunky gold necklace. She looks gorgeous, and she's making Hawke feel very underdressed.

From the raise of her eyebrow, Hawke would guess she's thinking the same thing.

"Did you forget we're going out to dinner?" She asks.

Hawke blinks. Yep. He totally did. 

"Is that now?"

"Yes, now. You've got five minutes to get dressed and sort your hair out."

Hawke puts a hand to his hair; he's got a definite bed-head thing going on.

"Five minutes," Hawke agrees, and sets about having the quickest shower of his life, and dressing in the suit he's brought with him, grey with a red tie. Despite how hurried he was, he looks surprisingly good, and sends a picture to Fenris, who responds with a very sultry selfie of his own, wearing nothing but a hoodie - well, he might be wearing pants but all Hawke can see is his long neck and bare chest, not to mention that smirk and those green eyes, _Jesus_ -

**_Hawke_ ** _(18:28)_  
_God you're distracting_

**_Fenris_ ** _(18:28)_  
_I try my best x_

At dinner, Hawke keeps his phone firmly in his pocket. He won't text Fenris. He's not so pathetic that he can't go an hour without texting him.

Even if he really, really wants to.

They're at the restaurant attached to the whisky tour place. It's a classy joint, hence the fancy clothes. One wall is entirely filled with bottles of whisky, in every shade from pale gold to russet, some of them eye-wateringly expensive. Hawke can't face any more strong stuff so he goes for a beer instead, brewed with Scottish seaweed for some reason. It's surprisingly nice. 

Isabela is effortlessly charming, to an extent that makes Hawke jealous. Whenever _he_ tries to be charming he inevitably puts his foot in it somehow. 

“You know,” she says, looking at the waiters, who are all wearing kilts. “I'm going to assume that they're wearing something under there. For health and safety reasons.”

“Such a shame,” Mum says, and Hawke actually gasps out loud. 

“Mum! I expect that from Isabela, but not from you.”

She smiles at him. “I do enjoy a man in a kilt. Your father wore one for a wedding, once. Not a drop of Scottish blood in him, of course, but his friend was and he insisted. And he went the whole hog, too,” she says, with a grin at Isabela. “Not a stitch on underneath.”

“Mother,” Bethany says, but she's laughing. Hawke is too horrified to speak. 

“Hawke here takes after his dad, doesn't he?" Isabela asks. "Looks-wise, I mean?”

“Oh, yes. Garrett's the spitting image of Malcolm,” she says, and smiles fondly at him. “Much more awkward than him, but they have the same good heart.”

“But if Malcolm looked good in a kilt, then I assume Hawke would, too,” Isabela says, and his mum chuckles. 

“I'm sure he would.” Then her smiles widens, and Hawke gets the feeling that he's being ganged up on again. “I bet Fenris would like to see you in a kilt, dear.”

Hawke makes a disapproving noise while the others laugh, but he's wondering if she might be right. 

When the waiter brings over their meals, Hawke tries very hard not to wonder what he's wearing under that kilt. The food is good; Hawke has vegetarian haggis - he wimps out of the real stuff - with neeps and tatties, and another of those seaweed beers. Dessert is cheesecake with raspberry ice cream – nothing especially Scottish about it, but it is _really_ good.

When they're done Hawke looks at them all, feeling slightly drunk and incredibly fond. They're his family, all of them, even if Isabela isn't related by blood. Making it's just the beer talking but he loves them all very much. His British stiff upper lip stops him from saying it out loud, but Hawke thinks they know - possibly because of his huge smile that he can't seem to dial back.

Even though it's still cold, they walk back to the hotel slowly. Hawke links arms with his mum, who tells them all another story about the time she and Dad came to Edinburgh and how he nearly got arrested. Hawke and Bethany have heard it before, but they love hearing stories about their dad. It makes Hawke's heart hurt, but it makes him smile, too.

“Let's get some booze,” Isabela says as they pass a supermarket, and leads them inside. 

They end up with three bottles of wine and a bottle of rum – a bit of overkill, since they're only here for one more night, but as Isabela says, it's best to have too much booze than not enough. Hawke gallantly offers to carry the bag.

When they get back to the hotel, Hawke suggests they all convene in his room to watch a movie, but his mum shakes her head.

"I think I'm about to fall asleep, so I'll leave you to it," she says, before giving them all a kiss on the cheek and departing to watch _Endeavour_ and have an early night. She takes a bottle of wine from Hawke, as she goes.

"If we're watching a movie we need snacks," Bethany announces, and waves off Isabela's suggestion to go with her. "I can cross the road to Marks and Spencer's by myself," she says, and kisses Isabela gently before she leaves, trailing a hand through her hair.

Isabela smiles after her, and then raises an eyebrow at Hawke when she catches him grinning at her.

"And what do you think you're smirking at?"

"I'm not smirking. I'm just happy for you. Both of you."

Isabela _hmph_ s and then pushes Hawke towards his room.

After grabbing the spare pillows from the wardrobe and the cushions from the chair, she makes herself a nest of them and gets comfortable. Her dress has a slit up the side which shows off pretty much her whole thigh, but she only laughs at Hawke when he looks flustered by it. 

“Sweet little Hawke, you're such an innocent. Have you seen Fenris's ankles yet?”

“I've seen Fenris's everything,” Hawke says, although he can't seem to remember what his ankles actually look like. He resolves to pay them special attention next time, and kiss them. 

“Tell me more,” Isabela suggests, and pats the bed next to her. He joins her in the pillow nest, but declines to answer her question. 

She rolls onto her side, putting her hand to his chest and hooking her leg around his. She looks at him with a question in her eyes, but Hawke doesn't think it's about seeing Fenris naked.

"What is it?" He asks.

"I'm just wondering why Fenris isn't here."

"I'm not quite sure Fenris is ready for my family yet."

Isabela smiles fondly at Hawke, squeezing his hand. "If he can deal with your friends he can deal with your family."

"My friends don't joke about me getting married and having kids."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "So you wouldn't consider marrying Fenris? I always thought you seemed like the domestic type."

Hawke blushes, and fiddles with a stray thread on the blanket. As it happens, he's pretty sure he had a dream about it this morning – he woke up with half-remembered images of a church and Fenris in a tux. And Fenris himself even joked about it - that _Fenris Hawke_ comment, but- "That's different though. Me thinking it compared to my mum asking him when the wedding is."

"Honestly, give her some credit, Hawke. She might tease _you_ about it. That doesn't mean she'll tease him."

Hawke sighs, and nods. He knows - and he's not exactly worried about what his mum will say, for all that he doesn't have much experience in his boyfriends meeting his parents. Doesn't have that much experience in boyfriends, to be quite honest.

"I suppose I'm just - worried. That if I suggest he meets my family he'll think I'm moving too fast."

"He's already met your sister, kitten. And you need to stop worrying about scaring him off. He's head over heels about you."

Hawke allows a smile and meets Isabela's eyes. "You think so?"

"He's pretty obvious about it, Hawke. Not as painfully obvious as _you_ , maybe, but you should see the way he looks at you when your back is turned. How did Merrill put it?"

"Puppy eyes," Hawke says, slightly embarrassed that he remembers that comment, that it meant so much to him.

"Yes! And that's a spot on description. It's fucking adorable, Hawke. Both of you are adorable. It shouldn't be allowed."

"Oh?” Hawke raises an eyebrow and jumps on the chance to change the subject. “What about you and Bethany? You're pretty adorable yourselves."

Isabela doesn't blush - of course she doesn't. This is the woman who happily talks about orgies and fetishes and all kinds of other things that makes Hawke's entire life look painfully boring in comparison. She does that without bashing an eyelid, and she definitely isn't blushing now - but she might be as close as Hawke has ever seen her.

"We're not adorable," she says. "We're sexy. We're hot. Maybe cute - Bethy is definitely cute - but that's as far as I go. We don't do puppy eyes like you and Fenris."

Hawke coughs, and Isabela glares at him, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Watch it, you," she says, but when Bethany slips back into the room with take out hot chocolate from Starbucks for them to add rum to, and a bag of treats in an M&S bag, there's no other word for the way they look at each other than _adorable_.

Hawke decides to keep that to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that there won't be a chapter next week! It's Mother's Day here in the UK next Sunday. I'm actually seeing my Mum on Saturday, but that's when I usually write the chapter so I'm going to take a week off :) I am hoping to have a bit of a Q&A about FH on [my tumblr though,](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/) probably about 9pm GMT, so if you're interested head on over there!
> 
> I hope to (finally) get the next chapter of [Silver Chains](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5331935/chapters/12311444) up, though, if you're reading that one. It's nearly finished so it just needs a good edit. 
> 
> As ever: I love you all and I'm infinitely grateful for your support. Keep being awesome <3


	33. Chapter 33

There's a long queue when Hawke arrives at Deep Roads on Monday. It's very annoying.

Hawke supposes he shouldn't really complain. He gets to look at Fenris for longer, in a different way than if he was talking to him; he almost feels like he's undercover. It's interesting to see the way he deals with other customers; mostly polite, mostly unsmiling and rather serious. He was never like that with Hawke, not even right at the beginning. He still remembers Merrill excitedly waving him over to introduce him to the new barista; the way Fenris had raised his eyebrows slightly and given him a small smile. Back then, Hawke hadn't realised how precious that smile was-

"Hello, Hawke," Fenris says, breaking him out of his thoughts. The smile he gives him now is even more precious; it's sweet and warm and most of all, it's just for him. "The usual?"

"Oh! Yes, please."

"Something on your mind?" Fenris asks as he snags a cup for Hawke.

"You."

Another smile, with a touch of a blush; Hawke is very lucky today.

Luckier still when it turns out that the queue thinned out behind him, and he gets a moment alone with Fenris.

"I missed you," Fenris says softly, stepping around the counter to be closer to Hawke, intertwining their fingers. 

"It was only four days."

"So you didn't miss me?"

"So much," Hawke says and leans in to kiss him; he tastes of brownie and coffee. "When are you free?"

"Tonight," Fenris says, and the heat in his eyes sets fire to Hawke's blood. God, Fenris is gorgeous. What did Hawke do to deserve him?

"Me too. Dinner?"

Fenris nods. "That Italian place where we had our first date. And then perhaps afterwards - your flat? I'm not working tomorrow, I could stay over."

Hawke nods very quickly. "That sounds like a delightful plan."

"Indeed," Fenris says. The queue is back and he has to return to work, but not before he gives Hawke a gentle kiss.

It's enough to make Hawke smile all day long.

===

At work there's lots to do - there always is after a few days off - but Hawke can't seem to find his motivation.

He always has his phone on his desk when he's working but today he can't seem to keep his hands off it. He keeps texting Fenris – silly little things like _You looked v cute in your apron today,_ and Fenris doesn't help when he texts back _I'd look even better in just the apron, no?_

That had Hawke's mind elsewhere for at least ten solid minutes.

Eventually Hawke has to return to the real world when Outlook pings up to tell him he has a meeting with Meredith(ugh) in fifteen minutes. He glares at the reminder and dismisses it, picking his phone up and then thinking better of it - it wouldn't do to be so distracted in Meredith's presence. So he sends one last text to Fenris - _Can't wait to see you tonight xxxxxxxx_ before heading off, feeling like he's about to face a dreaded foe, which isn't so far from the truth.

It's not as bad as he dreaded - mostly because Orsino wasn't there for her to butt heads with, partly because she wants Hawke's help with her latest project, though her idea of sweet talk is to scowl a tiny little bit less and be even more condescending than usual.

The meeting overruns, of course, meaning he's half an hour late finishing work and has therefore lost half an hour of getting-ready-to-meet-Fenris time. But at least he managed not to agree to anything, despite her alternating between cajoling and straight up threats.

The journey home soothes his irritations somewhat. As the distance from work increases, his annoyance retreats and he thinks of Fenris instead, of how much he's looking forward to seeing him. 

He was only in Edinburgh for four days but on the train home he was all Hawke could think about. As he stared out of the window, his thoughts were full of holding him in his arms, kissing the top of his head. Boring, as far as fantasies go, but more than anything else that's what he longs for. Orgasms are all well and good – and they're really, really good – but the thing he most cherishes with Fenris are the moments of closeness. 

The train stops between stations for ten minutes due to some problem or other, but finally he gets home. He frowns at the clock before making a quick cup of tea and then jumping in the shower. 

Once he's clean and dry, he goes into the bedroom with a towel around his waist to decide what to wear. He goes for cord trousers and a black tee, putting a smart striped shirt on over the top. He bought it to replace the one ruined in the incident with the Chantry, and Hawke's delighted to say that it's just as nice. The soft fabric clings to his muscles nicely, and the cut is so good it could have been tailored for him. Rolling up the sleeves and leaving the top button undone makes it a little more casual. Looking in the mirror he grins at himself. Very nice; very date-worthy.

Hawke looks up when he hears at the knock on his door, wondering if Fenris has joined Isabela and Varric in breaking into the building. But no; when Hawke opens the door, it's Anders, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that has seen better days. He looks tired, which is no surprise, and his eyes linger over Hawke's body.

"You're looking a bit dressed up for a night of playing video games," Anders says.

"Probably because I have a date that I'm trying to get ready for," Hawke says, but Anders doesn't get the hint. Instead of leaving, he frowns. 

"With Fenris?"

"Of course."

Anders gives a vague grumbling noise, and then sighs. "Hawke - can I have a word?"

Hawke pauses - he really wants to finish getting ready - but only for a moment. Anders looks agitated, like he needs to talk, and Hawke always tries not to be an arsehole if it's avoidable.

"Come in," he says, and opens the door wider. Anders comes in and flops on the sofa, taking a swig of Hawke's now-cold tea.

He sets it down on the table and stares at it – glares at it, in fact, like it's personally offended him. 

"I'm sure the mug is very sorry for whatever it's done to you,” Hawke says, and that prompts a smile. Anders looks at him and sits back, fidgeting with a loose thread in his sweater. Hawke looks down, watching those long fingers at work, with a sudden, uncomfortable flash of remembering how they felt against his skin.

"The other night, when you came in and I was - with someone," Anders starts. 

"You mean that guy you were practically blowing in the hallway?"

"I really wasn't," Anders says and rolls his eyes. There's a touch of a smile on his lips, and it makes Hawke smile back at him. "We were kissing, that's all."

Hawke grins. "I think my mother would use the phrase, 'heavy petting'."

"Good grief," Anders says with a laugh, and smacks Hawke's leg. "Stop it. I'm trying to be serious here."

"Yes, exactly. You're too serious these days. It's not good for you."

_"Hawke!"_

"Sorry, Anders," Hawke says, though he meant it; every time he's seen Anders lately he's had a frown on his face. He misses the old Anders; he worries about him.

"Anyway; the guy. He's what I wanted to talk to you about." He pauses again, and then sighs deeply. "Karl. I knew him in medical school."

"Wait – he's _the_ Karl?"

It hadn't clicked when they met in the hall; Hawke was rather distracted by Fenris. But it clicks now. 

Anders told Hawke about Karl when they were dating, one night when then were lying in bed together in the dark, listening to the rain outside. Anders told him about studying medicine - the long hours, the stress, the fear of failure. How he felt trapped, how he wanted to run, but couldn't because he didn't want to disappoint his parents, and because he wanted to help people so much, wanted to make a difference in the world. And he told him about Karl, the one glimmer of hope when things were bad, someone who meant the world to him. Once they graduated, Karl got an amazing job offer in Germany. Anders had always meant to follow him but something always cropped up to delay him. As time passed they agreed to go their separate ways, but Hawke got the idea that Anders had never completely gotten over him.

"He started working at my hospital a month ago," Anders says, wrapping the loose thread around his finger. "We ran into each other on one of the wards. We just stared at each other - I don't think either of us knew what to say."

"From the looks of things you managed to figure it out."

"But we didn't!" Anders says with unusual intensity and shakes his head. "We agreed to go out for a drink, have a catch up. And when we did - it was like old times. He's just like I remembered. I wondered, you know - if I'd been looking back on our time together with rose-tinted glasses. We ended up kissing, coming back here. We fucked - and jesus, it was so good. But we've not talked about it since. I thought - when he said about that double date with you and Fenris - which is never going to happen, by the way - that he wanted a relationship. That he felt like I did. But he's not mentioned anything since. I've barely even seen him."

"Well, you're both doctors, right? I barely saw you when we were together - I can only imagine it's worse when both of you work at the hospital."

"Maybe," Anders says, and sinks deeper onto the sofa. "But what if - what if I'm here, half in love with him, and he just thought it was a fling?"

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"I'm scared," Anders admits, sinking even lower onto the sofa. "What if he doesn't want what I want? It's been years, Hawke. I wouldn't blame him."

"You're not going to know unless you talk to him," Hawke says softly, and puts his hand to Anders's knee. "I know it's hard - really hard - to talk about that sort of thing when you don't know if it's reciprocated, but it's better than feeling like this, right?"

Anders nods, and then looks at Hawke. "Have you talked about it with Fenris? Have you told him that you love him?"

"I – what? I – I-" Hawke's cheeks are burning, and when Anders grins at him, Hawke supposes at least he's managed to cheer him up.

"Maybe you should take your own advice," Anders says, and stands. "But on that note, I'll leave you to it. I'd prefer not to run into him. Thanks for listening, Hawke."

“Any time, Anders. Seriously.”

Anders hugs him, tightly, before leaving, and Hawke's just stepped into his bedroom when the doorbell goes. 

This time, it is Fenris. 

"Hello," Fenris says, standing on the doorstep. He's wearing a beanie, of course, and a soft-looking leather jacket. His stance is relaxed and he's smiling. In the soft, golden light of evening he looks even more gorgeous than usual, and that's saying something.

Hawke stands there in the doorway, smiling at him, drinking in the glory that is Fenris, before realising that he should probably invite him in.

He stands aside so Fenris can step inside. When he does he brushes past Hawke, their fingers tangling, just for a moment, and he smiles before heading into the flat.

Hawke watches him go, his chest feeling tight. Fenris, standing in his living room like that, pulling his beanie off – he looks good there. Like he belongs. And he does – in Hawke's flat, in Hawke's life. Hawke follows him, and almost wraps his arms around him from the back before catching himself; he doesn't want to startle him.

"Fenris?" Hawke says after he closes the door behind him. "Can I hug you?"

Fenris turns with a smile, and nods. "You may."

Hawke closes the distance between them and holds Fenris close, kissing the top of his head, just like he thought about on the train. His chest feels tighter, and for a moment it's hard to breathe around just how much he cares for Fenris, how very glad he is to have him in his life, how _lucky_ he feels.

"I like you so much," Hawke murmurs into Fenris's hair. It makes Fenris look up, those beautiful green eyes looking into his.

"I like you too, Hawke," Fenris murmurs, stroking his cheek, then kisses him. His lips are warm and soft, and taste slightly sweet - honey lip balm, Hawke thinks, and feels ridiculously gooey at the thought that Fenris might have put it on in preparation for kissing Hawke.

They stand there, lost in honey lip balm kisses, until Fenris pulls away to smile at him.

"Weren't we going to dinner?"

"Hmm, yeah. I think I got distracted."

"I think you did."

Hawke gives him one last kiss, and then says, "Let me just sort my hair out and then we can go."

Fenris nods and picks up the tote bag that had fallen to the floor while they were kissing.

"This is for tonight. Pyjamas, that sort of thing."

"Oh," Hawke says, very aware that he's grinning uncontrollably. Fenris staying over. In his bed. Not for the first time, but this is the first time they've _planned_ it, and that makes it extra special. He kisses Fenris again, which distracts them for another five minutes.

Lukcily he booked the table for eight, just like their first date. They've got time.

When they finally manage to stop kissing for long enough to leave the flat, they head out to the pub. They go to the same one as their first date, since it's handy for the restaurant. It's quieter than last time since it's a Monday night, and they get a table easily, one near the window.

"Don't people normally re-enact their first dates on their anniversary?" Hawke asks as he shrugs out of his coat, and smiles when Fenris's gaze roams hungrily over his arms.

"As opposed to a random day five months afterwards?"

"Exactly."

Fenris shrugs. "I don't really think we're the type of couple that will stick too closely to societal norms."

Hawke bites down on a grin at Fenris calling them a couple, as his heart feels like it's expanding to fill the whole of his chest. 

“I'll, uh,” Hawke says, pointing at the bar, and Fenris raises an eyebrow at him. “I'll get them. The drinks, I mean.”

Smooth, as always.

As Hawke's standing at the bar, he's still smiling, thinking of Fenris calling them a couple. How does he think of Hawke, he wonders. Does he think of him as his boyfriend? Partner? Surely not _lover._ He kind of wants to ask, but he's already hit his making-a-fool-of-himself quota for the evening. 

A big group comes on while he's at the bar, and he has to weave between them to get back to the table.

"I have something for you," Fenris says when Hawke sits down, and Hawke raises an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

From his pocket, Fenris produces a small, black flash drive. Hawke takes it, looking from Fenris to the drive.

"It's my short story," Fenris says quietly. "You said you'd read it for me. Let me know what you think."

Hawke stares at him, and then wraps his hand protectively around the drive like it's something precious, which it is.

"Fenris, I - thank you. I know how much it means that you're letting me read this. That you're trusting me like this."

"I do trust you, Hawke," Fenris says quietly, and then gives a sudden, wolfish smile. "Later, I might show you how much."

"Is that so," Hawke says as he puts the flash drive safely in the inside pocket of his coat. "Do you have plans?"

"Hmm,” Fenris says, and props his chin on his hands. He looks thoughtful, then gives another hungry wolf smile. “Actually, yes. I was thinking of letting you suck my cock again. That's a sign of trust, don't you think?"

Hawke's eyes widen and he has to look away as he tries to get his expression under control. That kind of forthrightness is something he finds incredibly hot. "Fenris, honestly, I will do anything you want," he says, and glances up at Fenris - but his eye is drawn to something behind Fenris.

Hawke freezes, his smile shattering. 

He sees a woman - a blonde woman, familiar. His subconscious recognises her before he can put a name to the face, fear twisting his gut, making his heart race.

The woman from the Chantry - the one who tried to kill Saemus, who beat the crap out of Hawke.

She smiles - a nasty little smile - and then turns away, towards the door.

"Hawke?" Hawke's attention snaps back to Fenris and he stares at him for a moment, finds him frowning and worried. "What's wrong?"

"I-" Hawke stops, and looks back at where the woman was . Was it her? Surely not. She's in jail - Aveline arrested her. She just looked a bit like her, that's all. "It's nothing."

"It's clearly not nothing," Fenris says quietly. "If there's something wrong, I want to help."

"It's just - I thought I saw- I mean, it's not, it must just be someone who looks like her.” Hawke licks his lips. This is clearly ridiculous, he's overreacting. “I thought I saw one of the people who attacked Ashaad. Who-" he touches the scar over his eyebrow and Fenris's expression hardens. He turns, scanning the crowd.

"Where?"

"She just left," Hawke says, feeling silly but at the same time pleased that Fenris isn't dismissing his worries.

When Fenris looks back to him, his eyes are intense. "If it is her, and she tries anything, I will stop her," he says, and there is steel in his voice. "I will never let anyone hurt you, Hawke." There is no doubt or teasing in Fenris's voice. There's a hardness in it that Hawke hasn't heard before, and he doesn't doubt him. He's utterly sincere – he would fight for Hawke. And as touching as that is, Hawke doesn't want him to do anything that might get him hurt, ever.

"I hope it won't come to that," Hawke says, and winces when his voice wavers. His heart is still racing, his body still on high alert. _She's gone,_ he tells himself. _If that was even her at all._ It doesn't do much to calm him.

He takes a deep drink of his beer, and looks up to see Fenris looking at him, frowning.

“You haven't talked about it much,” Fenris says. “About what happened."

Hawke looks down at his drink, tapping the glass, and shrugs. “I've not thought about it, to be honest. Whenever I catch my mind going there, I start feeling a little panicky, and just sort of back up.” He gives a humourless smile and looks up. “Not exactly the healthiest way to deal with it, I know.”

Fenris gives a grim smile of his own, and reaches over to take Hawke's hand. “The same route I've taken.”

Nodding, Hawke sighs. “I just – want to ignore it, you know? It just doesn't seem real, and I think I prefer it that way. But – I don't know. Aren't you supposed to talk about these things?”

Fenris squeezes his hand. “So they say. Maybe you could talk to Aveline. She seems like she'd be a good listener.”

“She is,” Hawke murmurs, and looks up, behind Fenris, but the woman – whether it was the Chantry woman or just someone who looked like her – is long gone. He takes a gulp of beer. It does a little to calm his nerves, so he takes another. "I just - I don't regret it. Helping. I'm glad I did. A bit proud of myself to be honest. But..." He trails off, not sure where the thought was taking him.

"I'm proud of you," Fenris says. "You saved Saemus and Ashaad. You're a hero."

Hawke laughs then, and shakes his head. "I don't feel very heroic. To be honest I feel like a bit of a mess. Well, even more than usual. God. I'm not dealing with this very well, am I?"

“Better than I deal with most things. I'm very good at dealing very badly.”

“I don't think you're dealing with it badly. Honestly. I think you're so fucking brave,” Hawke says, looking at him seriously. “And I want to hug you. Can I hug you? I think I need to hug you.”

Fenris laughs, and nods. “You can hug me, Hawke.”

Hawke scoots his chair round so that he can hug Fenris, holding him tightly, and _that_ helps to calm him. Having Fenris so close; having Fenris hold him back. His racing heart slows, the fear retreats, disintegrates.

"Better?" Fenris asks when he pulls back, looking into Hawke's eyes.

"Better."

Fenris pauses, still looking at him. "Do you want to go home?"

_Yes,_ Hawke thinks instinctively. He would very much like to go home, where he feels safe, where they can cuddle on the sofa. "I'll be fine. I've booked a table-"

"Then we could get dinner to take out. I'm sure they won't mind having a free table."

Hawke pauses. "Are you sure?"

"Very."

Fenris was right: the restaurant is more than happy for them to take out, especially since the big group from the pub comes in shortly after they do. Hawke tenses up, his hand tightening around Fenris's, but the blonde woman, Chantry member or no, isn't amongst them.

When they get back to the flat, the first thing Hawke does is carefully put the flash drive with Fenris's story on his desk, beside his laptop, where it will be safe.

When he gets back to the kitchen, Fenris has already started putting the food onto plates, so Hawke gets their drinks instead. Since they restarted their official dates, Hawke's bought a bottle of Merlot almost every time he's been to the supermarket, and he's got quite a collection now. He grabs a bottle at random, and grabs himself a beer from the fridge.

They settle on the sofa to watch cheesy romcoms they find on Netflix. A few beers in, the combination of carbs and alcohol turns out to be too much for Hawke. He falls asleep on Fenris's shoulder. He wakes during the credits of the second film. Fenris is asleep, snoring quietly, hand wrapped around Hawke's.

Hawke smiles at him. So much for their sexy plans. But Hawke is perfectly happy with the way the night has turned out. He would have preferred not possibly seeing the woman who put him in hospital, but this is still a good end to the night.

He shakes Fenris's shoulder.

"Let's go to bed," he says softly, kissing Fenris's forehead when he looks blearily up at him.

"Mm," Fenris says, squeezing his hand and letting him lead the way.

===

Hawke groans when he wakes, his alarm beeping insistently.

There's the tiniest smidgeon of a hangover, but mostly it's just the injustice of being awake this early that makes him groan. When his tired mind latches on to the fact that there's someone next to him in bed – his _favourite_ someone – he decides maybe it's not _that_ bad.

Fenris, sleeping, is a delightful thing. His head is angled towards Hawke, mouth open slightly, his breathing slow and deep. There's a bed head thing going on with his hair, which is too damn sexy, and that along with his bare arms and chest, and Hawke is quickly becoming more and more certain about this whole 'being awake' thing.

When Hawke shifts, Fenris's eyes flicker open, looking up at Hawke and smiling.

“Good morning,” he says, and stretches, cat-like, before shimmying over to press his body against Hawke.

“It is,” Hawke agrees, and rolls onto his side. Fenris moves even closer, tangling their legs together and putting his hands to Hawke's chest. Hawke's second alarm goes off, and when he grabs his phone to turn it off, he pauses. “It's your day off, isn't it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Got any plans?”

“Not really.”

Hawke looks at his phone.

A day at work, mostly messing around with very dull spreadsheets, or a day in bed with Fenris. No contest, really.

“How about we spend the day together?”

Fenris blinks up at him. “As lovely as that sounds, aren't you working?”

“I think I might be coming down with something,” Hawke says, and gives a very fake cough.

Fenris raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Hmm. Then I suppose I'd better stay and look after you.”

“You're such a good boyfriend,” Hawke says, and Fenris hides his head against Hawke's chest, but not before he sees his smile.

Hawke fires off an email to Bran, with Saemus cc'd, saying that he's not coming in, and then puts the phone back on the bedside table. He doesn't bother putting the alarm on again; what's the point in throwing a sickie without a lie-in? Instead he pulls Fenris back into his arms, kissing the top of his head, and closing his eyes.

They spend the next few hours snoozing, then lying in bed and talking. Eventually they emerge to shower, and have breakfast – or, considering the time, lunch.

They reheat the leftovers from the night before - carbonara, breadsticks, pizza - and cuddle up on the sofa to watch Archer.

"So how was Edinburgh?" Fenris says after, as he's washing the dishes despite Hawke's protests.

"It was amazing. We'll definitely have to go together. I thought of you while we were going round the castle."

Fenris smiles at him, putting the last dish on the drainer and washing his hands. "That's sweet, Hawke."

"I do try," he says, and kisses his temple. As he does, a thought occurs to him. "Oh! I forgot to say, I got something for you in Scotland."

Fenris looks up at him and smiles. "Another gift? You spoil me, Hawke."

"You deserve to be spoiled," Hawke says, and leads him to the living room, pushing him to the sofa before going into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and hoping that Fenris will like the gift. 

It's a kilt. Hawke gave in and bought one. They were in one of the tourist shops, and his mother was looking at the tartan samples. She came up with a gem of wisdom from her free trial on ancestry.com that one of her - and therefore Hawke's - forebears was a Wallace. _From Dundee, apparently, lovely man,_ she'd said. _Caused a bit of a scandal – seems we Amell women have always been partial to handsome men that our parents disapprove of._ The Wallace tartan - at least according to the tourist shop - was red, and since that's Hawke's favourite colour...

Well, the kilt-buying happened.

As he pulls it on now, he looks in the mirror with a critical eye.

He - actually looks good. Really good. Grinning, Hawke turns around, looking at himself from all angles.

He strips off the plaid shirt he put on this morning - it clashes - and puts it over the back of the desk chair. After another moment's thought, he also strips off his underwear. Might as well be traditional, right?

Hawke goes out into the living room, and Fenris turns to look at him-

And grins.

Widely.

He stands and looks at Hawke, still grinning.

"Very nice, Hawke," he says, and cocks his head. "Though I have to wonder - are you wearing anything under there?"

Hawke grins back. "Why don't you come and find out?"

"Gladly," Fenris says, and strides over, pinning Hawke against the wall beside his bedroom door. He runs his hands over Hawke's shoulders, his chest, his stomach, biting his lip as he does. "Do you know how gorgeous you are, Hawke?"

Hawke gives a strangled little laugh. "Wow, you _really_ like the kilt."

"I really like _you,"_ Fenris says, and kisses Hawke hungrily, pressing his tongue into Hawke's mouth, hands going around to Hawke's ass where they hitch up the back of the kilt to answer his question, cupping his bare arse. Fenris gives a muffled groan and his hips thrust forward, and Hawke groans too.

No one has ever turned him on as quickly as Fenris does. It's not just how gorgeous he is, or how good a kisser he is, it's the chemistry between them, sparks and lighting and forest fires, and fuck but Hawke _wants,_ he wants Fenris, he wants whatever Fenris wants.

Which is revealed, when Fenris's hand moves from Hawke's arse around to his cock, wrapping around it and starting to stroke without warning.

"Fuck," Hawke gasps, and Fenris chuckles, something Hawke feels rather than hears. And Fenris - he's jerking Hawke off expertly, the perfect tightness, the perfect tempo, and he's going to come embarrassingly quickly.

The pleasure is ratcheting up, completely out of his control, and he's whispering, gasping Fenris's name.

"I missed you," he gasps, moaning and clutching Fenris's shoulder, wanting, needing to touch him. "I wanted - I thought of you there in bed with me - I wanted you, I always want you."

"I want you, too," Fenris says, his grip tightening a little, enough to make Hawke yelp. "And what I want right now is for both of us to come."

Hawke nods desperately. "Tell me what you want, Fenris."

Fenris pushes him to the sofa and down into it, quickly straddling him. He pushes the tartan aside to reveal Hawke's cock, and then unzips his jeans, pulling his own out.

Just the sight of it is enough to make Hawke moan.

Fenris grabs Hawke's hand and wraps it around both of them.

"Make us come, Hawke," he says, and his voice is ragged.

Hawke can only nod, and pulls Fenris in for a kiss as he strokes the both of them together, the feeling of Fenris's cock against his, the whole length of him hard and hot, might just be one of the best things he's ever felt. 

He comes so quickly that it would be embarrassing if Fenris didn't come only seconds afterwards. 

He collapses against Hawke's chest, breathing hard. 

When Hawke can speak again, he says, “I'm so glad I took today off.”

“Me too,” Fenris says, holding Hawke a little tighter. “Let's do this again.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was delayed thanks to a whole bunch of anxiety that gave me writer's block :( But it is here now, and I hope you like it! <3 As ever, thank you for your support and for being all-round awesome.


	34. Chapter 34

A gentle kiss wakes Hawke.

He opens his eyes and sees a blurred smudge of brown skin and white hair, too close to focus on, and smiles before kissing back, putting a hand to Fenris's head to hold him close.

An afternoon nap _and_ being woken by a kiss? Leaving the office early was definitely a good idea.

He'd been having a hard time concentrating – possibly because he'd worked fifteen hours the previous day and had four hours of sleep. Having decided to try working from home instead, he nipped into Deep Roads for a caffeine top-up on the way. Fenris suggested he go to his place so they could spend the evening together, and of course Hawke had instantly agreed.

He'd proceeded to work for an entire hour before passing out on Fenris's sofa, only to be awakened like Sleeping Beauty. Pulling back to get a better look at his fairytale prince, Hawke smiles. He definitely approves.

Fenris smiles back at him, carding his fingers through his hair. "I like seeing you here when I get home."

"Oh? Planning on making me a kept man?"

Fenris laughs and kisses him again. He's on his knees by the side of the couch, still wearing his hoodie and his bag still over his shoulder. He pulls off the bag and rests his head on Hawke's stomach, looking up at him. "On a barista's salary? I don't think so."

"When you become a best-selling author, then."

"Hmm. Maybe.” Fenris's brows dip in a frown. “Your job does cause you far too much stress. I worry about you."

"Do you?" Hawke feels a tightness in his stomach at that. To have someone worry about him. To have _Fenris_ worry about him. It's a nice feeling.

"Yes. Of course. This week, since you've started working late again - when I see how tired you look in the mornings, when you texted me to say you wouldn't be able to come over because you had to work until ten - it's not right, Hawke. You shouldn't have to do that."

"I'm sorry for cancelling-"

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that you can't keep this up. At some point something has to give and that something cannot be you."

He's looking up at Hawke, still resting on his belly, but his expression is so fierce. He's just brimming over with protectiveness and it makes Hawke happy.

"I like you so much," he says, and Fenris leans in so that he can kiss him.

"I like you too," he says, still fierce, and his kiss is simmering, far hotter than Hawke meant it to be, but he's definitely not about to complain. Fenris bites at his lower lip, slides his tongue into his mouth and both of them moan.

"Get on me," Hawke gasps, all vestiges of sleepiness forgotten. Fenris does, clambering on top of him, barely breaking the kiss. Hawke moans at the weight of Fenris on him, and slides his hands down his body to his very nice ass, pressing their hips together. As much as Hawke wants Fenris - as much as he _always_ wants Fenris - there's nothing hurried about it. Slow, deep kisses, losing themselves in each other, drowning in each other. 

"This feels so right," Fenris whispers, then kisses him again. "Being with you feels so right."

Hawke looks into Fenris's eyes, sees something there that Fenris isn't putting into words, but Hawke _sees_ it. It makes his heart ache and expand, makes his whole body feel light and warm. Before he says something stupid he kisses him again. Hawke can feel that Fenris is hard, their cocks pressed together, but they don't grind against each other. They just kiss, sizzling and slow, and Hawke thinks that he could do this forever. 

Which is when Hawke's phone starts vibrating on the coffee table. Glancing over at it, he sees _Mum_ on the screen.

"You'd best answer it," Fenris says, having looked too, and puts his head on Hawke's chest.

With a sigh, Hawke does, hoping this isn't going to be one of his mother's epic hour-long phone calls.

"Hello?"

"Hello, darling. Are you busy? Are you alright to talk?"

No, he thinks; Fenris's weight and warmth are extremely distracting. "Yep. How're you?"

"Good, good - how're you? How's Fenris?"

"I'm good, Fenris is good. I'm at his place at the minute, actually. I'm going to cook him dinner." Fenris looks up at him then and smiles, mouthing _oh really?_

"Oh Garrett, I'm so glad things are working out for you. It's been too long since I heard you so happy."

"I am happy, Mum. Really happy." Fenris smiles up at him, and then lifts his shirt so that he can kiss his belly. Hawke covers his mouth to muffle a laugh.

"I rang because I wanted to check that you're going to be around for Bethany's birthday."

"Of course. What's the plan?"

"I was thinking we could have a garden party - something a bit special since she wasn't home last year. She's already said she'd like that. Do you think Fenris would like to come?"

The nonchalance in her voice masks the fact that this is a big question. Hawke looks down at Fenris, who's playing with a bit of loose thread on Hawke's shirt. A meet-the-parent request is kind of a big deal. But they've been staying over at each other's places, and Fenris let him stay here today without being here himself. That's a big deal, too. Maybe it is time.

"Let me ask him." Hawke puts the phone down on his chest as Fenris lifts his head.

"Ask me what?"

"Mum's arranging a garden party for Bethany's birthday. Do you want to come?"

Fenris looks at him, pushes his hair out of his eyes. "That would involve me meeting your mother."

"It would, yeah."

"And - you want to do that? This is a serious step."

"Yeah. But I'm ready for it. If you are."

Fenris strokes his fingers through Hawke's beard. They look at each other and Fenris's gaze is soft, his smile gentle. He shifts to kiss Hawke lightly on the lips. "Yes, Hawke. I'm ready."

Happiness bubbles up in Hawke, but it's tempered by the pull of anxiety. “I should warn you, though. Since it's Carver's birthday as well, it's usually a bit – well, it's difficult sometimes. And I'm not always in the best mood.” 

“If it will help you, I want to be there, Hawke.”

He's so – so _honest_ when he says that, protectiveness flaring in his eyes. He means it – he _means_ it, and Hawke doesn't think anyone has ever cared about him the way that Fenris does. Words that Hawke isn't sure either of them are ready for yet try to force their way out of his mouth so he kisses Fenris again, and Hawke wonders if he can taste them on his tongue. 

“Garrett!” His name, yelled, comes tinnily through the speaker of his phone, and Hawke pulls back from Fenris, feeling slightly guilty. 

“Sorry, Mum,” he says. “We'll be there, both of us.” 

“That's wonderful,” she says, pleased.

They say their goodbyes, and then after kissing him once more, Fenris sits up and stretches indulgently. It makes his t-shirt ride up, and Hawke touches Fenris's belly, until he swats his hand away. 

“Stop that,” he says, and smiles down at him. “Food first. Other things... Later. Maybe. You did say something about dinner, no?”

Hawke did. He got groceries on the way here, and sets about making pad thai. Fenris insists on helping, so Hawke suggests he cut the vegetables. He's slightly startled by how fast and how skilled he is with the blade, and Fenris smiles when he sees him looking. 

“I've worked in kitchens, here and there,” he says. 

“Here and there?”

“Canada, Mexico,” Fenris says with a shrug. “Iceland. When you have a sharp knife in your hands, you have to concentrate, unless you want to lose a finger. There were definitely times when I was grateful to have something to concentrate on, to keep me busy. To stop me thinking.” He shrugs, and there's a tension in his frame that makes it clear he doesn't want to talk about it. When he's done, Hawke kisses the back of his neck, very gently. 

While dinner is cooking, Fenris clears off his desk-slash-dining table and sets out placemats and cutlery as well as a candlestick. 

“A bit fancy,” Hawke says, and Fenris smiles at him. 

“Your cooking deserves it.”

Noises from the stove demand Hawke's attention, but he's pretty sure that Fenris sees his blush before he turns. 

Whether or not it deserves the fancy accompaniments, the dinner _is_ tasty, especially paired with the delicious Riesling Fenris chooses for them from his impressive collection. 

They talk as they eat, and Fenris tangles their feet together under the table, smiling as he does so. It's such a sweet little thing, a sign of how comfortable he is, that Hawke gets a little flustered and has to take a gulp of wine. 

After dinner, they turn on _The Champion of Kirkwall_. It's been a while since they played, and Hawke forgot where they were up to. He's not especially happy to see that they are currently stuck in one of the many spider-ridden caves, but he nevertheless bravely plays through them for Fenris's sake. Once he's done, Fenris kisses him in gratitude and then goes to top up their drinks. 

“Did you ask Aveline about the woman you saw last week?” Fenris asks when he sits down again, sipping his wine. “The one you thought might be your attacker?”

Hawke feels a blush spread over his cheeks, and he looks away. Looking back on that night, he feels silly. Total overreaction. Of course it wasn't the Chantry woman; Aveline would have let him know if she'd been released. Seriously, it _can't_ be her. To Fenris, he says, “No. I thought about it, and it wasn't her. I'm sure it wasn't.”

“Hawke,” Fenris says, and then shakes his head. “I know it can be hard to talk about these things-”

“It's fine,” Hawke snaps, and then winces when he sees Fenris's jaw tighten. “I'm sorry. I just – I suppose I'm not fine. But I don't want to talk about it.”

Fenris doesn't say anything, and when Hawke looks at him, he sees that he's glaring at the opposite wall. 

_Fuck,_ he thinks. Everything was going so well, why did he have to go and spoil it? Fenris was _worried_ about him, he didn't deserve to be snapped at. Hawke opens his mouth to apologise again, but Fenris speaks first. 

"I do know how hard it is, Hawke. I don't like talking about my feelings.” He takes another sip of his wine, and then looks at the television, where the Champion stands in the middle of the street, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I wasn't exactly in the headspace for talking about feelings when I got out of jail," Fenris says quietly. Hawke shifts on the sofa, thrusting aside thoughts of himself. It isn't often that Fenris talks about his past, and when he does, it tends to be in an out-of-the-blue way, like this. If he needs to talk about something, he has Hawke's full attention. "I was angry. And afraid. I just ran. From Danarius. From myself." He shakes his head. "For a long time, running was all I did."

"But you're not running now."

"But I did," Fenris says, taking Hawke's hand and running his thumb over the scar on his palm. "When I left after we slept together. I was so angry with myself. Scared."

"Of me?" Hawke frowns. "I'd never hurt you."

"I know. But I-" he stops and gives a smile that's more frustrated than amused. "You know what else scared me? _The Champion of Kirkwall."_

Hawke stares at him, and then glances at the game onscreen. Is he changing the subject? "The spiders _are_ pretty scary."

Fenris laughs and shakes his head. "I don't mean the spiders. I told you that I felt a little like it was a player insert for me? Seeing the elf overcome his past, and find love with the Champion - find a _home_ with him - that's all I ever wanted. Someone to care for me like that. To not have to be alone any more." Fenris comes to a stop, and he stares down at Hawke's hand. "I wanted that. I wanted it so much but I knew I could never have it. Someone like the Champion - someone _good_ \- would never want me. I'm broken and I've only ever attracted broken people, and I can't _have_ that-"

His voice is breaking and Hawke can't stand it. He pulls Fenris into his arms, holding him tight, listening to his uneven breath, feeling his back shake under his hands.

"I don't know how good I am, and I'm a little broken myself," Hawke says. "But you can have that with me, Fenris. I'm all yours. If you want me."

“You know I do, Hawke,” he whispers. 

They kiss again, but Fenris ends up pulling away. He looks at Hawke for a moment and then lets out a long breath that shakes slightly towards the end. 

“It scares me a little – how good you are. How much I care for you,” he says. “But I can be brave. For you. For us.”

Hawke smiles, and squeezes Fenris's hand. “Me too.” 

Fenris smiles, and then gulps down the rest of his wine before picking up the game controller. “But for now – why don't we let the Champion be the brave one?”

“Good idea,” Hawke says. The two of them have been brave enough for one night, what with the talking, Hawke spending time in Fenris's flat unaccompanied, and of course the plan to meet Hawke's mum. 

Now it's time video games, wine and cuddling. 

By the time they go to bed, both of them are too sleepy for much more than cuddles and kisses, but as Hawke's about to fall asleep, something nags at him, and he looks at Fenris. His eyes are closed, and he's on his side facing Hawke. His hair falls into his eyes, and his face is shadowed. He looks vulnerable like this, and an urge to protect him rears in Hawke; to protect him from all harm, from all hurt. 

“I really am sorry,” Hawke murmurs, and Fenris opens his eyes, looking at him sleepily. “For snapping at you earlier. I didn't mean it. I just – I think you're right. I should tell Aveline. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Fenris repeats sleepily, and shifts a little closer to Hawke, putting a hand to his waist. “You don't need to apologise. I understand.”

“I know. But still. I wanted to.”

“Hmm,” Fenris says, and kisses Hawke's chest. “Thank you. Now go to sleep, Hawke.”

“Sorry,” Hawke starts, then stops. “I mean – sweet dreams, Fenris.”

Fenris chuckles, and cuddles closer. “And you, Hawke.”


	35. Chapter 35

Tonight’s date is going to be an unusual one; they’re going to a self-defence class.  

It started as a favour to Aveline. In a moment of – Hawke's not sure what – she agreed to run a class after-hours with Donnic at a local leisure centre. Hawke, in turn, was talked into attending by a desperate Aveline, so that at least _someone_ would turn up and she wouldn’t be left along with Donnic.

_Oh, because that would be so very awful,_ Hawke had said. Aveline hadn’t laughed. 

Now that he's agreed to it, Hawke feels like it's actually a good idea. After the attack on Ashaad and Hawke's lacklustre response in dealing with it, he could do with a reminder about self-defence. Aveline looked into the woman Hawke thought he saw, and she's definitely still in jail. That was a relief, until Aveline also suggested that it might have been a relative, another member of the Chantry. It's a family affair, with lots of brothers and sisters. _Watch yourself,_ Aveline had said; Hawke hopes that tonight's class will help him know what to do. Just in case.

And Hawke had invited Fenris because, well, why not? Fenris's presence always makes everything better.

Since it’s a bit out of the way, Hawke is driving. He's just arrived outside Fenris's flat, and sent him a text to let him know he's here, but he is _not_ prepared for what he sees when Fenris steps onto the street.

Fenris is wearing leggings. Black ones. _Tight_ ones. Well, obviously; they're leggings. But.

Fenris gets into the car and smiles at Hawke, but hesitates when he sees Hawke's expression. “Is – is everything alright?” He asks, and Hawke nods mutely for a moment before he finds his voice.

“Yes. Yes! It's just – you're wearing leggings.”

“I am,” Fenris says, and glances down at himself. “You said it was a self-defence class. Is this not appropriate?”

“They’re very suitable! Uh. I mean.” Hawke stops, tries to gather his thoughts, finds that there's none to gather other than _oh my god he's so gorgeous._ “You look – they suit you. A lot.”

Fenris’s confusion clears, and he smirks. “You like them?”

“You have really nice legs, Fenris.”

“Which you’ve seen naked.”

“Mm-hmm. I really have. And these are not the sort of thoughts to be having while wearing sweatpants.”

“Is that so?” Fenris asks, and then Hawke yelps – very loudly – as Fenris’s hand ghosts over his cock.

“Behave,” Hawke groans. “Or I’ll need a cold shower before we even start.”

Fenris smiles and puts a hand to the back of Hawke's neck, pulling him close for a slick, simmering kiss, then says, breathless, “I won’t apologise for wanting you, Hawke.”

“You want me?” Because Hawke sure as hell wants him. His heart is hammering, he's more than half-hard, and his whole body is just sort of _thrumming_ with the need to touch Fenris, anywhere that he'll let him. 

“I want you _so much,”_ Fenris says, and then he's kissing Hawke with a heat that matches his own. Working around the handbrake and gearstick they kiss and touch and feel, and Hawke _wants_ him, wants to give Fenris everything _he_ is, aches with it, with a desperation like he's never known.

“Fenris,” Hawke gasps when they pull apart, feeling incredibly hot and bothered, and absolutely sure that he was right: this is _not_ the sort of thing to do while wearing sweatpants. Fenris looks down at where Hawke's cock is very obviously tenting them, with a contemplative look on his face that turns into a smirk.

“What time to we need to be there?” 

“Um. I said we'd be there early to help set up.”

“And if you sent Aveline a text to tell her we've been held up, that we'll be there for the start of the class - how much time would we gain?”

“Twenty minutes or so.”

“Then how about you text Aveline, and we go up to my flat and make the most of those twenty minutes?”

Hawke's already got his phone out.

===

“You have the best ideas,” Hawke says as he pulls into the leisure centre's car park. After a very quick, very hot fumble in Fenris's bed, he feels deliciously satisfied and relaxed, like a cat in a sunbeam. Looking over at Fenris, he thinks, _you make me so happy_.

“On occasion,” Fenris says, and when Hawke puts the handbrake on, leans in to kiss him again. “I'll agree that was definitely one of them.”

As they get out of the car, Hawke stretches, taking a moment to not-so-surreptitiously admire Fenris's backside and legs in those leggings, and then snags his hand as they make their way over to the building. It's a concrete creature of the seventies, squat and ugly, but the yellow lights in the tall windows are welcoming.

They step inside, hand in hand, and see Donnic directing a couple of young women down the hallway.

“...and then it's just through the doors in the sports hall,” he says, and then turns to Hawke and Fenris with a smile. “Ah, Hawke. I'm glad you made it. Aveline said you were having car trouble.”

“Yes,” Hawke says, and tries very hard not to blush. “Sorted now though. Donnic, this is Fenris. My boyfriend,” he adds a little too quickly, remembering all too well that embarrassing night stuck in the pub with Donnic, that _I'm sorry but I'm straight_.

“Pleased to meet you, Fenris,” Donnic says smoothly, and then gestures down the corridor where he directed the girls. “We'll be starting in a few minutes, if you want to find yourselves a spot.”

In the hall the mats are already laid out, very precisely, with Aveline at the front, pacing from one side to the other, her hands behind her back. There are twenty or so people already here, mostly gathered near the back. There's the strange echoing, muffled sound of people talking quietly in a large open space.

When Aveline sees Hawke and Fenris, she gestures for them to approach.

“Will you sit near the front?” She asks. “I feel like everyone is avoiding me.”

"I'm sure they're not," Hawke says, but they take two of the front row mats in any case. Fenris puts the bottle of water that he's brought with him next to the mat, and Hawke wishes he'd been so prepared. He looks up at Aveline thinking to ask her if there's somewhere he can get water, but when he finds her looking anguished.

“Why did I agree to do this, Hawke?" She asks. "I’m incapable of acting normal around Donnic – this was a terrible idea.”

Hawke shrugs. “Maybe it'll turn out for the best. The two of you spending some non-work time together. You could talk to him afterwards - ask him out for a drink.”

She just glares at him. “You are not helping, Hawke.”

Donnic returns with a group of people, sets them up with mats, and then comes to the front of the room. He smiles at her in his easy-going, relaxed way, and her cheeks creep a few shades closer to scarlet.

“Ready, Aveline?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she says, with the grim determination of someone about to attempt Everest.

It starts with a talk about safety – staying in brightly lit areas, giving up your bag if someone wants it, running as soon as you can. Aveline manages this easily enough – this is what she does, what she loves. She’s not always good with people, but her need to protect them, to keep them safe, overrides that.

Even when they move onto the next part, giving examples of where to hit if that's the only option, she stays calm and professional, even though it means touching Donnic.

She gets through the bit where she’s talking about holds easily enough, but when it comes to actually putting him in one, she pauses. Not for long though, and Hawke doesn’t think that anyone else, not even Donnic, notices.

After they show how to break the hold, they turn it over to everyone else to practice, and if Aveline moves away from Donnic a little too quickly, it’s not _too_ obvious.

“So, uh,” Hawke says, turning to Fenris, trying not to stare at how damn good he looks. “Do you want to be the holder or the holdee-“ He pauses, trying to figure out which is which.

"You can be the holdee," he says. "I already know how to break out of a hold."

Hawke blinks at him. "Oh?"

With a grim smile, Fenris says, "I know how to fight, Hawke. I had to learn."

_Shit,_ Hawke says, remembering too late why Fenris knows that, and then says it aloud before apologising, but Fenris shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it," he says, and they cocks his head, looking at Hawke with a look that makes Hawke feels slightly uncomfortable. It's piercing, that look, stripping away all his defensive layers. "Is this about the Chantry? Why you wanted to come here, I mean."

"It's about helping Aveline, mostly," Hawke says, truthfully. "But the thing with the Chantry did cross my mind."

"I'd be happy to teach you to fight, if you like," Fenris says. "My - style, I suppose you could call it - is quick and dirty, a mix of bits and pieces I picked up here and there. But it works."

"Well that's the important bit, isn't it?" Hawke says, and Fenris nods. He stays where he is though, waiting, until Hawke takes a breath and says, "I'd like that, Fenris. Just - something to-" He shrugs, not sure how to put it into words, and touches the scar above his eyebrow. Fenris nods; he gets it.

While the people around them are practising holds and breaking them, being helped by Aveline and Donnic, Fenris and Hawke do their own thing. Fenris starts by showing Fenris some defensive moves, some of which strike vague memories in Hawke from his high school tae kwon do classes. Fenris is a surprisingly patient teacher, showing Hawke each move before making him do it himself, correcting him, making him do it again.

Once Hawke has mastered the basics, Fenris suggests he show him a few offensive manoeuvres, a few throws.

"I suppose I could throw someone," Hawke says, looking doubtful. "I'm bigger than most people, after all."

Fenris giggles then, and then coughs, looking aside as though completely innocent. 

"That was very Isabela of you," Hawke tells him, and Fenris grins at him.

"Well, you _are,"_ he says, then bites his lip in an attempt to regain seriousness. "But. The point of a proper throw is that it doesn't matter so much how big you are, how big your opponent is. I could throw you, and you weigh a lot more than I do." Hawke looks at him doubtfully, and Fenris raises an eyebrow at him. "Shall I show you?"

"Sure, if you think you-"

Movement.

And then Hawke is on his back, the mat and Fenris's fist grasped firmly in his t-shirt the only things that stopped him from hitting hard.

Hawke stares up at Fenris, who absolutely, effortlessly threw Hawke. Over his hip, maybe, but Hawke really isn't sure what the hell just happened. He knows one thing, though.

"I think that might be the hottest thing I've ever experienced," he says, and Fenris laughs, lowering Hawke the rest of the way to the mat, but still leaning over him, smiling down at him crookedly.

"Even hotter than, oh, an hour ago?"

Hawke grins. "Maybe not _quite_ as hot. But almost."

Fenris shakes his head and laughs, a deep velvet thing, and offers Hawke a hand, helps him to his feet.

"Not quite sure that was one of the things we showed you," Donnic says with a smile as he stands close by, arms folded. "Though it was very well done, Fenris. Do you do martial arts?"

"Something like that," Fenris says, clipped, and looks at Donnic coolly. Donnic only nods and moves on; as a seasoned police officer, no doubt he knows when not to push.

"You're amazing," Hawke tells Fenris, kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand. Before he gets the chance to ask Fenris to show him how the heck he did what he just did, Aveline and Donnic return to the front of the class to call an end to it, to thank everyone for coming. Donnic says that he's planning to make this a series and they hope to be back soon, and Aveline gives him a look that's made entirely of despair.

After everyone else has trickled out, Hawke and Fenris help Aveline and Donnic put the mats away, since they weren't there to help in the beginning. As they're returning from carrying the last mat into the storage room, Aveline says, loudly and quickly,

“How about a drink?” Her eyes are fixed on Donnic until he looks at her, and then her gaze darts away panic crawling over her face.

“Sounds good to me,” he says.

“Hawke? Fenris? Please join us,” she says, desperation leaking into her voice. Hawke is very tempted to say no, especially after the last time he was in a pub with Donnic, but she really looks desperate.

"Fenris has to be in work early tomorrow," he says, looking at him. "Do you have time?"

Fenris hesitates, appraising the situation, before he nods. “Yes, I think so.”

They go to the pub around the corner from the leisure centre. Even from the outside it’s slightly seedy, but it has the best name Hawke has ever seen.

_The Famous Cock_.

Fenris snorts, very quietly, and leans in to Hawke.

“I think it’s referring to you in those black jeans,” he says, and Hawke gasps.

“Fenris!” He hisses, his cheeks burning, but Fenris’s cheeky smile makes everything better. Hawke gives him a quick kiss and then takes a picture of the sign and sends it to Isabela. How could he _not?_ He gets a reply straight away.

_**Isabela**_ _(20:25)_  
_omg pls tell me this is a gay bar_

_**Hawke**_ _(20:26)_  
_Unfortunately not, just some random dive pub. But there’s entertainment in the form of Aveline trying to flirt with Donnic_

_**Isabela** _ _(20:26)_  
_whaaaaaaaat keep me updated that’s an order_

There’s a lot to update her on. Starting mere minutes in, Hawke sincerely wishes he wasn't driving so that he could drink something stronger than Coke; the second-hand embarrassment from Aveline is agonising.

As soon as they get their drinks, she comes up with _it’s a real nice night for an evening_. She then launches into a long and very boring soliloquy about the technicalities of stab vests, and even Donnic, the only one who might be interested, has glazed eyes. It goes on, and on; she can’t seem to stop herself, and Hawke – and Fenris, too, it seems – can’t help but watch.

By the time she and Donnic go to the bar to get another round in Hawke feels dazed by the whole thing. He looks at Fenris, who's biting his lip against a grin.

“Bloody hell, she’s bad at this,” Hawke says.

“To put it mildly,” Fenris says, and beneath the table, his fingers tangle with Hawke’s. Their eyes meet, and the fondness in his gaze makes Hawke's heart skip. _Oh Fenris,_. “It’s making me feel nostalgic for the early days of our relationship, Lord Hawke.”

_”Stop,”_ Hawke says, but he squeezes Fenris’s hand before running his thumb over the red silk cuff against his wrist, over the silver crest on it. “I’m bad, but I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Not quite,” Fenris agrees, but then his attention is grabbed by something beyond Hawke and his eyebrows raise. Hawke glances behind him to see what Fenris is looking at, and sees it instantly: Isabela.

She’s wearing tight jeans and a low-cut top under a baggy cardigan that Hawke is pretty sure is Bethany’s. She’s already spotted them, and weaves between the crowd to get to their table. Her hair is woven into a braid, draped over her shoulder.

“Hello, boys,” she says, grinning at them, and pats Hawke's cheeks. “Don't you two look adorable together? And Fenris, those leggings - yum. Actually, Hawke, there's something about those sweatpants, too. They make me want to do things to you, things I shouldn't want to do to my practically-brother-in-law."

_"Isabela,"_ Hawke says with a wince, for so many reasons.

Grinning at him, she says, "Oh Hawke, you're so easy to tease. Thankfully I'm not here for you.” She looks around the crowded bar. “Where's our desperate superintendent?"

“Did you come here just to laugh at Aveline?” Fenris asks, and Isabela raps him on the arm.

“Of course not,” she says with exaggerated affront. “She’s my friend, Fenris. I _also_ came to help her, since it sounds like she’s in desperate need of it.”

Hawke can’t deny that; he also can’t deny that Aveline is not going to be happy to see Isabela, and that this is indirectly his fault. But after the way tonight’s been going, maybe she needs a bit of a push. On the one hand, it feels like a betrayal to do this to her; on the other, she needs _something_. He wants Aveline to be happy, and right now, that's not happening. Hawke looks at Isabela, and right or wrong, makes his choice.

“What’s the plan?” Hawke asks, and Isabela gives a conspiratorial smile.

“Just the truth, Hawke.”

"I'm not sure I want any part of this," Fenris says, finishing his glass of wine.

"Really, Fenris?" Isabela asks. "Haven't you seen how very pathetic Aveline is? How much help she needs?"

"She does need help," Fenris agrees, "But I don't want to make an enemy of a police officer. I'll watch. And be a witness if she attempts to kill you."

"Such a sweetheart," Isabela snorts, and then points at Hawke's drink. “Does that have rum in it?”

“No, I’m driving.”

“Hmm. Disappointing. Ah, but here come our two noble officers of the law, drinks in hand. I always say that a beer makes anyone sexier."

Hawke looks up and sees Aveline and Donnic approaching, each of them with holding a couple of drinks. He also sees the horror that crosses Aveline's face when she sees Isabela.

“Isabela?” Aveline says as they put down their drinks and then, through gritted teeth, “What a surprise.”

Isabela leans an elbow on the table, her chin on her hand. “Hawke was telling me about what a fun evening you’re having, and I just _had_ to join you.”

Aveline glares, hard, at Hawke.

“I didn’t invite her,” Hawke says quickly. “But it might be good that she’s here – you’re being-“ He waves a hand vaguely.

“Hawke,” Aveline says, a warning in her voice. Hawke glances at Fenris, who refuses to meet his eye; he’s no help. Then he looks at Isabela, who looks into his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He might not have invited her, but since she’s here, maybe they should give Aveline a bit of a nudge; after all, they gave _him_ a nudge when they invited Fenris to the Hanged Man, and look how well that turned out.

Taking a deep breath, he decides to dive right in, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head screaming that this is a bad idea.

“I think you’ll feel better once it’s all out in the open,” he says, and Donnic folds his arms, looking at all of them with a perplexed expression.

“Am I missing something?”

“You really, really are,” Isabela says, stealing Aveline’s beer and taking a gulp of it. “Hawke’s been texting me all night, and I don’t know which one of you is worse. Donnic: take a hint and bend her over the table.”

“Isabela!” Aveline cries, and Hawke winces – he thought they were going to work up to it, to be _subtle_ – though honestly, he should’ve expected nothing less. Isabela is not a subtle woman.

Well. It’s all out in the open now. Hawke takes a deep breath, and dares to look up.

Donnic stares at Isabela, open-mouthed; and then at Aveline, who is bright red, her mouth working wordlessly as she tries to come up with an excuse or an explanation.

“Superintendent,” Donnic says uncertainly, and then stands up straighter. “I think – I think I should go,” he says, and picks up his coat before heading for the door.

_Fuck,_ Hawke thinks, heart sinking like it's made of lead. This isn't how this was supposed to go.

Aveline glares at the two of them, and Hawke’s starting to think that this might not have been the best idea. “I thought you were my friends,” she says, and the words strike his heart sharper than arrows.

“I had to do _something._ Otherwise you would have been mooning over him forever.”

“And now _you_ have to do something,” Isabela says to Aveline, and points at the door. “Go after him!”

“But-“

“Either he tells you he’s not interested and then at least you know. Or he takes you home and gives you a good seeing to.”

“I-“

“I would suggest you go now, before you lose him,” Fenris says, breaking his vow of silence. He takes Hawke’s hand and looks up at Aveline. “These things can be difficult, but if Donnic does feel the same way, it will be worth it, I promise.”

Aveline looks down at their joined hands and then nods. Grabbing her own coat, she gives one last glare to Hawke and Isabela, and says, “We will be having words later,” before striding to the door.

“Well,” Isabela says, finishing Aveline’s beer and then claiming Donnic’s, too. “That was fun.”

“Not quite how I’d put it,” Fenris says, shaking his head. “But you’re right. It is good to know.” He looks up at Hawke. “Very good.”

The delight that Fenris’s words prompt make Hawke smile for a moment, before the guilt and worry overcome him once more, and he looks towards the door. “Do you think he likes her?”

“I think she’s going to get an answer at least,” Isabela says, and then pats Hawke’s hand. “It’s for the best.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He gets his phone out and after a moment’s thought, texts Aveline, _I’m sorry we sprung that on you. Hope everything’s okay_. Simple, for now, to be followed up with grovelling in person if necessary.

They stay in the pub chatting, though the little whisper of worry never quite leaves Hawke. Isabela is telling them about Zev and Maha's latest exploits - apparently the Alistair that they mentioned in the Hanged Man is visiting them in Madrid and they are having a _lot_ of fun, enough that Hawke blushes just to hear it.

After about half an hour, Aveline steps back into the pub. When Hawke sees that she has a wide smile on her face, the relief that floods him is staggering.

_Oh thank god._

“So?” Isabela asks with a smirk as Aveline approaches.  _“Did_ he bend you over a table?”

“I’m not you, slattern,” Aveline says, but she’s still smiling. “We just talked.”

“And?”

Aveline's smile widens, warms. “And Fenris was right. It was difficult. And it was worth it. Thank you for your support, Fenris.”

“What about _me?”_ Isabela asks. “I was the one who did all the work.”

With a fresh glare, she says, “I’m still angry with you and Hawke.”

“But you’ll forgive us?” Hawke asks.

Aveline steals Isabela’s drink from her and downs it. She looks at all of them in turn, then sighs, then smiles.

“This was all incredibly stupid,” she says, shaking her head. “But you two – you made it wonderful.” She kisses Hawke on the cheek, and then Isabela; and then, after a moment, Fenris, too. The way he startles and then blushes, ever so slightly, is adorable. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“You can start by buying a round,” Isabela says. “And then giving us all the gossip.”

“I’ll buy you a drink, but my lips are sealed.”

“We’ll see about that,” Isabela says; that’s exactly the kind of challenge she likes. Hawke would wager that by the end of the evening, Aveline will tell Isabela everything.

For better or worse, though, Hawke and Fenris have to leave once they've finished their drinks. It's much later than Fenris planned to stay out, but he says, quiet and serious, that he'll never mind spending more time together, which makes Hawke ridiculously happy.

When they pull up outside Fenris's flat, they look at each other, smiling, and Hawke thinks how very, very lucky he is.

"I'm pleased for Aveline," Fenris says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "If it hadn't worked out with Donnic, I think she might have actually killed you."

Hawke laughs and nods; she'd know how to cover it up, too, a veteran of many years on the force that she is. "You don't think I could have fought her off? With all those new techniques you taught me?"

"I wouldn't recommend it," Fenris says, and then reaches over to run a hand down Hawke's leg. His eyes follow his hand, and when he looks up again, there's a flicker of fire in his eyes. "I thought that making you come earlier would mean I wouldn't feel like this now."

Hawke stares at him, swallows. Hearing Fenris say that he wants to make Hawke come, in that _voice_ of his... 

He shivers, and then picks up Fenris's hand from his thigh, kisses his tattooed palm. Still holding his hand, he looks at Fenris and licks his lips. "As much as I would love to make you come again, I don't want to keep you up when you have to work."

Fenris laughs, smirks, leans in and kisses. "I'm always up all night when I'm with you, Hawke," he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. "But you're right, of course. I wouldn't _regret_ inviting you in - I'd never regret that - but I'll be in a terrible mood all day if I don't go to sleep soon."

"I wouldn't want to subject Merrill and Tamlen to a grumpy Fenris."

"Exactly. So: when _can_ I make you come?"

"Tomorrow?" Hawke says quickly; his willpower has limits.

"Tomorrow," Fenris agrees and kisses Hawke, just this side of smouldering; when he pulls away it takes all the strength Hawke has not to pull him back in. His willpower is seriously hanging on by a thread here. "I am very much looking forward to it," Fenris says, his hand on the door handle. It takes another moment before he opens the door - Hawke thinks Fenris is having willpower issues, too.

"Me, too," Hawke says, and then, willpower disintegrating, leans across the passenger seat to kiss him one last time. "So much."

Fenris runs his fingers through Hawke's hair, smiling, leaning their foreheads together. "You better go, Hawke, before I drag you inside. Merrill and Tamlen will thank you."

"And you?"

"I'll thank you tomorrow," Fenris says, and then with one last kiss, he steps backwards. Hawke settles back in his seat and blows a kiss to Fenris, who bites down on a smile and looks aside. Hawke is suddenly struck with the thought that they are every bit as pathetic as Aveline, and the thought is followed quickly by the certainty that he does not care.

"Sweet dreams, Fenris."

"You too, Hawke," Fenris says, and then closes the door and departs, smiling over his shoulder. Hawke watches him until he's safely back in his apartment building and then just sits there for a moment, smiling at the memory of Fenris's lips on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've just moved to a new flat (yes, again) and it's been a heck of a few weeks. Thank you for your patience <3


	36. Chapter 36

Hawke can't stop rambling.

That's nothing new; he can rarely stop himself from talking, especially when it's about something he loves. In this case, it's about Fenris's short story.

He read it weeks ago, shortly after having been given the flash drive. Once he'd started reading, he couldn't stop. It was so good. _So good_. The writing was precise and witty, descriptive without being overly flowery. Into eight-thousand words Fenris had made a new fantasy world come alive, created memorable and awesome characters, and wrapped up the plot neatly. It was everything Hawke hoped it would be - no, it was so much _more_ than Hawke hoped it would be. He'd hoped it would be good, so that he wouldn't have to squirm as he gave feedback. But it's so much more than merely _good_.

"...and when you introduced the dragon! I was so scared for the knights - I mean, I knew they could protect themselves, you'd shown what badasses they were, but still. The dragon was amazing, Fenris!"

Fenris chuckles, looking slightly awkward; despite this happening for weeks now, he still isn't entirely comfortable with Hawke's enthusiastic praise, which just means Hawke has to praise him more until he gets used to it.

"Somehow I thought you'd like the dragon," Fenris says, looking at Hawke out of the corner of his eye with a smile on his lips, and Hawke nods enthusiastically before diving into another round of praise.

Because Fenris deserves it. And also, a little, because Hawke needs something to take his mind off today.

They're in the car, on the way to his mum's house. It's Bethany's birthday and Hawke is, as always, strung out. There's no other word for it. He hates being like this when its Bethany's birthday - she deserves to have a nice time, she deserves to have the _best_ time, but Hawke can only think of Carver, of how Hawke should have _done_ something-

"Did I mention that I also loved the mermaids?” Hawke says, the words tumbling from his mouth. “Merguys?"

"Once or twice, yes."

Hawke rambles the rest of the way; he thinks Fenris understands.

By the time they pull up outside the house, Hawke has run out of words. They've been stolen by his ever increasing sense of guilt, and Hawke knows it's misplaced - he knows he couldn't have done anything - but he can't shake it.

He still feels responsible. Bethany is alone today, on her birthday, because Hawke didn't do his duty as a big brother. He-

“You're wonderful, Fenris. You really are,” Hawke says quickly. “You've got to tell people these things while you still can, you know? And I hope I'm going to have a long, long time to keep telling you that, years and years and _years_. But still. I want to tell you now, too. You're amazing, Fenris.”

“As are you, Hawke.”

“I mean it, Fenris.”

“And so do I,” Fenris says, reaching over to squeeze Hawke's knee. When Hawke looks at him, he sees not pity - he's not sure he could have dealt with that - but understanding. After all that Fenris has been through, Hawke wouldn't be surprised if he understands what Hawke's feeling better than he does himself. "How can I help?"

Hawke considers, and licks his lips. His heart is still racing, guilt still tugging at him. But Fenris is here, and that alone is doing wonders. "A hug would be good."

Fenris shifts in his seat, moving closer to the edge, and then pulls Hawke into his arms. Hawke leans into it, hiding his face in Fenris's soft hair, holding him around his waist. 

_Oh Fenris,_ he thinks, incredibly grateful that he's here. 

After a few moments he feels better, safer and warmer and more relaxed. He kisses the top of Fenris's head, and then his lips, very softly, before taking a deep breath. 

“Well,” he says. “We're here.”

“The Hawke estate,” Fenris says, touching the silver token on his wrist cuff, stamped with Hawke's family crest. He looks over at Hawke with a measuring look, and then smiles. “Shall we, Lord Hawke?”

“We shall.”

They get out of the car, and Hawke gets their bags from the boot. They're staying the night, so they've brought a change of clothes, pyjamas, the usual stuff. There's also a very large gift bag for Bethany, and a smaller one from Fenris, who picks them both up and follows Hawke through the crested gateway.

Inside the house, they're greeted by Sam, barking and running up to them. That relieves the weight on Hawke's shoulders a little. Sam loves him so much. There's no complication, no guilt or resentment. Sam just knows in his doggy heart that Hawke is his most favouritest person, and is happy to see him. Putting the bags down and getting to his knees, Hawke hugs him tightly. Today, he thinks, is going to be a day of many hugs. He'll need them to get through it. Besides, there's no such thing as too many hugs. 

“Do you remember Fenris, Sam?” Hawke asks, and by the way that Sam makes a happy little noise and goes straight to Fenris, yes, he does. 

“Hello, Sam,” Fenris says, shifting both bags to one hand so that he can stroke Sam's head. “It's good to see you again.”

Hawke grins; who is formal like that with a dog? But Fenris is, and Sam's tail is wagging wildly. He is a guard dog, honest, and he's usually wary with strangers. Then again, Fenris is special, something Hawke knows very well. 

As they go further into the house, Hawke hears voices from the sitting room. It's the one nearest the back of the house, and it looks out onto the garden. As Hawke pushes the door open, he sees that Isabela and Bethany are there, standing near the window, both of them with cups of tea – or perhaps something stronger – in their hands. Isabela is staying over tonight, too. She smiles warmly at them, waving with a waggle of her fingers. 

“Hello, boys,” she says with a wink. 

Bethany's smile is more wintery, a little distant. Whereas Hawke's been trying to avoid his thoughts of Carver, he thinks she might have been lost in them. He goes up to her and hugs her tightly; she hugs him back just as tight.

"How are you doing?" He asks.

"Alright, considering." She looks up at him with a grin. "I just keep thinking of what Carver would think about Isabela, and it's keeping my spirits up."

Hawke laughs, loudly. "Oh my god. He'd love her."

"Or her boobs at least."

"Who could blame him?" Isabela asks, and joins in the hug too, wrapping her arms around both of them, and yells for Fenris. "Get your sexy little arse over here," she tells him, and Fenris obediently comes over. His embrace is a little awkward, and mostly it's Hawke that he's holding, but he's here.

They stay like that for a while, and when they part, Hawke smiles at Fenris before kissing him gently. 

“Oh my god, could they be any cuter?” Isabela asks, putting her arm around Bethany's waist. Bethany smiles at her, and says, 

“They could be us.”

Hawke notices that Isabela doesn't argue with _Bethany_ on the cute point. Which is for the best, because look at them. Gazing into each others' eyes with dreamy smiles: the epitome of cute. And Hawke should know, he and Fenris do that all the time. 

Footsteps behind them announce Leandra Hawke's presence, and Hawke turns to greet her with a smile. Her own is a little strained and sad, but she accepts his embrace and kisses his cheek. 

“Thank you for coming, Garrett.”

“Of course, Mum.”

She looks beyond him at Fenris, whose shoulders are rounded, as though he's making himself smaller, and he's looking at the floor. He looks so nervous. Hawke wants to go to him, but before he can, his mum steps forward. 

“So,” she says, smiling. “You must be Fenris.”

“I am,” he says, nodding in a way that looks more like a bow. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Hawke.”

“Leandra, please,” she says, and Hawke can see the amusement in her smile. “I've heard a lot about you.”

Fenris glances over at Hawke, who sees the nervousness in his eyes. After all, if he's not been someone's boyfriend before, he's certainly not done the meet-the-parent thing. Hawke takes the opportunity to go over to him, and puts his arm around Fenris's waist. 

“Oh?” Fenris asks, and visibly relaxes now that Hawke is by his side.

“That you make incredible coffee, for one thing,” she says. “Maybe you could make us some now? It would be nice to have a bit of a chat before we go to the cemetery.”

“Of course,” Fenris says, and lets Hawke lead him to the kitchen. He lets out a deep breath as he does, and eyes the cafetiere. 

“That went well,” Hawke says, kissing his temple and going to the cupboard where his mother keeps the coffee beans. 

“Did it?” Fenris asks, going to stand by his side and grabbing a Kenyan blend. Expertly he puts the beans into the grinder and Hawke watches him with a smile. It's interesting, the way he works with such confidence, his hands going through the familiar motions with ease, while his expression is so concerned. “It's not something I have much experience with. What will she want to talk about? Over coffee? Is there anything I need to know, or-”

“It's just going to be a chat, Fenris,” Hawke says, putting a hand to the small of Fenris's back and kissing his neck. “It's not a test.”

“Isn't it?” 

“No. But if it was, you'd ace it.”

Fenris gives an unconvinced rumbling sort of noise that makes Hawke smile. He stands behind Fenris, their bodies pressed together, and wraps his arms around his waist. Fenris squeezes his hand but doesn't stop what he's doing. 

“I've never been very good at tests,” he says as he pours hot-but-not-boiling water into the cafetiere. 

“Fenris, relax. She'll love you.” 

Fenris goes still, and Hawke can feel something in the air, a – a sense of expectation, like it's the right time to say something – _like I do,_ perhaps, but fear is a hot spike in Hawke's chest that won't let him talk, and the moment passes. 

But Fenris is still in his arms, and he turns to kiss him while the coffee brews. The moment will be back, Hawke thinks; but for now, he's quite content to enjoy this one. 

When they take the coffee into the sitting room, everyone praises Fenris's skills, especially Leandra, who seems quite taken with him. Hawke smiles at him and mouths, _I told you so_.

The conversation between them is easy, but the tension that's dogged Hawke all day tightens as the clock ticks, as the time to go the the cemetery gets closer. 

Kissing Fenris's cheek, Hawke stands and goes to the window to look out on the garden. It looks beautiful; there's a white gazebo, and there's bunting strung around the garden between poles: white, grey and red, Bethany's favourite colours. A couple of staff hired for the day, wearing black trousers and waistcoats and crisp white shirts, are putting out long tables, getting everything ready for the party.

“You have no idea how happy I am that it isn't raining,” his mother says, coming up beside him and linking her arm with his. “We could have had the party in the gazebo, of course, but it wouldn't have been the same.”

“It looks amazing, Mum,” he says, and she smiles up at him. Leaning closer, she says,

“I could say the same of Fenris. I can't believe you kept such a looker a secret for so long.”

Hawke chuckles, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I know for a fact that Bethany has shown you pictures of him.”

“Someone has to, dear, since _you_ weren't. Anyway, the important thing is that he's here. And clearly smitten.”

“You think so?”

She looks over at where Fenris is sitting on the sofa beside Isabela, shaking Sam's paw. He glances up as if he senses them looking at him, and gives Hawke a smile like winter sunshine, before looking back to Isabela to respond to her question. 

“I really do, Garrett.”

Smiling back, Hawke says, “Me too, Mum.”

He looks back out of the window at the party preparation, and then pats his mum's hand. There's no point in putting this off forever.

“Well – shall we go say happy birthday to Carver?”

===

Cemeteries are not exactly Hawke's favourite place. 

Certainly not this one, where his father and brother lie side by side beneath the grass. 

He stands there, staring, feeling dull and heavy, his mother's arm linked with his. Both of them are quiet, but Bethany sits on the grass before the gravestone and talks to her twin. She tells him about Isabela, and Fenris, about working at Imperial College. She tells him about CERN, about Edinburgh, of the plans she and Isabela have to go to Madrid in summer. 

And then she tells him she misses him, and touches the gravestone with her fingertips, and the world blurs around Hawke until he squeezes his eyes shut against the threat of tears. 

He's overcome when she talks to Dad, too, and he puts a hand over his eyes. He hates feeling like this. He _hates_ it. 

“If you were here... Well, I think you'd be proud of me,” Bethany says, and their mother steps forward to hug Bethany. 

“He would. He'd be so proud of both of you. Like I am.”

“Oh, Mum,” Bethany says, and they embrace each other before pulling Hawke into the hug too. “Just cry, Garrett,” she adds. “Just let it out.”

And he does. For Carver, for his dad. For not being a superhero, able to save his dad from disease; his brother from hundreds of miles away. Because sometimes shitty things happen, and you can't save everyone, no matter how hard you try or how much you want to. 

After, he feels better, and gratefully accepts a tissue from his mother. 

“You cry every year, Garrett,” she says, dabbing at her own eyes. “I'd've thought you'd think to bring your own tissues.”

“Maybe next year, Mum,” he says. 

Once he's feeling up to it, he drives them back to the house.

When they get home, his mum is the first one out of the car, saying she wants to check on the party preparations; Bethany pauses, and looks at Hawke.

“I say this every year, but Carver wouldn't blame you,” she says. Hawke only shrugs, his throat too thick to say anything. “And neither do I.”

She pats his leg and then gets out of the car. Hawke doesn't move. Bethany has never blamed him, but his mum did. After it happened, she was drowning in grief, looking for someone to blame. He knows she didn't mean it, but he can't quite forget it, either. His heart still feels the sting, and the weight of guilt that should never have been laid on his shoulders. 

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. Then another. Another. 

After ten or so, he feels better. Not good – still weighed down by sadness, but it's lighter than it has been. Maybe it's just time, maybe he's finally starting to heal. Maybe it's having Fenris in his life. Maybe it's saving Saemus and Ashaad; a kind of redemption. Most likely, it's all of the above. But if it means that he can treat today as what it is – a day of celebration, not grief – then he's very grateful. 

Hawke gets out of the car and slowly makes his way into the house. 

Inside, he's startled to see that Fenris is waiting for him, leaning against the wall of the entryway. When Hawke steps inside, he pushes himself upright and then goes to Hawke, standing close but not touching. He looks into Hawke's face, searching.

“I was going to come out to the car, but I thought you might want to be alone. How are you feeling?”

Hawke doesn't answer right away; he considers. “Sad. Guilty. I miss him, Fenris.”

“I know, Hawke,” he says, and kisses him. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Actually, that kiss was exactly what I needed.”

They stand there, Hawke's hands on Fenris's waist, Fenris's hands curled around Hawke's biceps, their foreheads touching. Hawke takes some more deep breaths, and feels his multitudinous stresses melt away. 

One last breath and then Hawke smiles, kisses Fenris. 

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

They stay there, just the two of them, for a moment or two, and then Hawke takes Fenris's hand. 

“Let's do this.”

Together, they go out into the garden. Everything's already been dealt with by the staff. Long trellis tables and benches are set out on the grass, with white tableclothes and red roses in vases. Inside the gazebo, food of all kinds has been set on tables, along with an impressive three-tier cake and an equally impressive bar. Hawke approves; his mother is clearly putting the Amell fortune to good use.

When the guests start arriving, Hawke has his hand firmly in Fenris's.

Some of the people he knows - Bethany's friends through the years, from school and university to work, and, surprisingly, Bull turns up too and gives her a rib-creaking hug. Hawke narrows his eyes, feeling a pang of protectiveness, until Fenris squeezes his hand. Bull comes up to greet them, too, friendly and warm, clapping Hawke's shoulder. 

There are people who Hawke doesn't know - some of them are colleagues from her new job, he guesses.

He and Fenris don't mingle too much. Fenris isn't really the mingling type, and Hawke isn't much feeling it today. So they claim the end of one of the long picnic tables, with plates of food and glasses of wine, and chat.

It isn't long until Hawke is starting to feel his old self again. Fenris has a way of doing that - of relaxing him, of grounding him. Of making him feel safe.

Hawke looks at Fenris, who raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't speak. Hawke looks at all the parts of Fenris he loves best – which, in all honesty, is all of him. But the bits he loves even more - his eyes, his smile. His hair, which he's had cut again especially for today. Hawke's fingers itch to run through it - and why not? He lifts a hand, pausing when he's almost touching; then Fenris smiles and leans his head, meeting Hawke's touch. He closes his eyes, still smiling, as Hawke strokes his fingers through his hair. Not for the first time, Hawke thinks how catlike Fenris is sometimes. Right now, he almost looks like he should be purring.

When Hawke drops his hand to take Fenris's again, Fenris opens his eyes and gestures at the bar with his thumb.

"I'm going to get a top up. Would you like one?"

"I'll come with you," Hawke says, and hand in hand they make their way over.

Hawke's mum accosts them on the way, insisting on introducing them to Bethany's boss. 

“Garrett, dear, have you met Professor Guerrin?” She asks, and from the way she smiles at him, Hawke guesses she's quite taken with him.

“I haven't, no,” Hawke says, trying and failing not to fall into his usual overprotectiveness. As it happens, Professor Guerrin - _call me Teagan_ \- is quite charming, and Hawke can see why his mother might like him. He's no Malcolm Hawke, of course, but then who is? Before he can get too bad, Fenris gently leads him away.

"You don't have to protect everyone all the time," Fenris says softly as the lady behind the bar pours their wine.

"Don't I?" Hawke says, looking at his mother and the professor, flirting outrageously.

"Not everyone," Fenris repeats softly, linking his arm with Hawke's and leading him away. "And not all the time."

"It's one thing to know that; another to accept it."

"Tell me  something I don't know, Hawke," Fenris says, and his smile is amused when Hawke looks down at him. He's struck by a wave of affection and he kisses the tip of Fenris's nose. The affection blooms ever larger when Fenris giggles.

Fenris looks up at him, and bites his lip. "Something you don't know? I've never liked anyone as much as I like you, Hawke. Maybe you do know that, but I've not told you before, so I think it still counts."

Hawke can only look at him for a moment, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. 

Not quite an _I love you_ but it's close. 

_Say it,_ Hawke tells himself. _Tell him!_

He doesn't. He can't. 

"I'm glad you told me," he says instead, and kisses Fenris, on the lips this time. "It was exactly what I needed to hear."

"Good."

They walk around the garden, hand in hand. They're joined by Sam some of the time, walking by their side, tail wagging. He's overjoyed by all these people giving him attention, and they often lose him to someone willing to give him belly rubs. As they walk, they talk a little to the people Hawke knows. One of them, Peaches, exclaims at how much he's grown, and her eyes linger on Hawke's biceps. Fenris takes Hawke's arm and gives her a sub-zero glare.

"He is taken," he says, and Peaches looks from one of them to the other and then sighs, dramatically.

"All the good men are."

Hawke has to bite back a smile as she turns and walks away.

"Carver used to have such a crush on her when they were in high school," he murmurs to Fenris. "But even then she only had eyes for me. Poor Carver."

"Hmm," Fenris says, still looking after her with narrowed eyes.

Bull is by the food, arms folded. When they greet him, he tells them that he's people watching. 

“I like it,” he says. “You can really get to know people that way – watching them when they don't know they're being watched.”

“Well, that doesn't sound creepy at all,” Hawke says, and Bull laughs, picking up a tiny Victoria sponge and eating it in one bite. 

“Maybe a little,” he says, with a shrug of his impressive shoulders. “But what can I say? It's not like I'm inconspicuous.”

Which isn't exactly true; despite being a hulk of a man, somehow Bull escapes notice, unless you're specifically looking for him. It's something Hawke's noticed, and commented on before. Bull had just shrugged and said it was a talent he'd cultivated for work, but didn't elaborate on exactly what he did for a living. Hawke had quickly decided he didn't want to know and stopped asking. 

They chat to Bull for a while before continuing their walk around the crowd, and head over to Sam, who abandoned them just before they talked to Bull. Unfortunately, Hawke hadn't noticed that Sam had company in the form of Uncle Gamlen. Not really a family member Hawke wanted Fenris to meet. 

"Your dog slobbered on me," Gamlen says with a look of displeasure on his face as he wipes his hand with a napkin.

"It just means he likes you," Hawke says. "You should be grateful - Sam doesn't like everyone. He's a dog of refined tastes." Except in the case of Gamlen, that is. Hawke's sure that Sam knows Gamlen is family and that's the only reason he's nice to him.

"He's getting too much of a taste of you ask me - like he's planning to take a bite next time."

"Sam's never bitten anyone," Hawke says, barely containing his annoyance. "He's a big softie."

Gamlen makes a noise to suggest his doubt, and then for the first time seems to notice Fenris. He looks at him suspiciously, and his frown deepens when he sees their joined hands.

Gamlen looks from Hawke to Fenris with unimpressed eyes. "Leandra said you were courting. I suppose I don't need to ask which one of you's the girl."

Hawke stares in horror at Gamlen. "What the hell?!"

"Oh, is that not PC?" Gamlen says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and Hawke sets his jaw, forcing himself to count to ten before he reacts. 

“No, it's not PC,” Hawke says, glaring at Gamlen. “Nor is it polite. And if you can't manage either, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

Gamlen glares right back at him. “You watch your mouth, boy. I'm your uncle-”

“Yes, unfortunately. But just because you're family doesn't mean that you get to say things like that. Fenris is family, too.”

Gamlen gives Fenris a disparaging look, but before he can say something else godawful, Hawke's mother comes over. 

“Nice of you to finally arrive, Gamlen,” she says, and leads him away, grumbling, to the buffet table. 

“What a charming man,” Fenris says, and Hawke glares after him. 

“He's an arse,” he says, and then purposefully looks away from Gamlen to Fenris; his mood improves instantly. “I'm sorry about him-”

“You don't need to apologise for someone else's behaviour, Hawke.”

“Someone should,” he says, and shakes his head. “He knows what today means to us. You'd think he'd be on his best behaviour, that he'd _try_ not to piss us off. But he just-” Hawke shakes his head, and then looks up at Fenris. “Can – can I have a hug?”

“You can have as many hugs as you need,” Fenris says, and steps close. He's warm, he holds Hawke tightly to him, and that's exactly what Hawke needs. It makes him feel safe, cared for. 

They start walking, hand in hand, around the edges of the garden. It takes them to the woods – a small copse of trees, really, at the bottom end of the garden. It's away from the party, from everyone else and it provides a little privacy. 

Fenris leans against one of the trees, and looks at Hawke. As the sun filters through the trees, the branches and leaves cast dark shadows over him, stark against his white hair. He looks like a work of art; but then, Hawke thinks, he always does. 

“Did you mean what you said?”

“That Gamlen's an arse? Yes, definitely.”

“No, that – that I'm family.”

“Oh. Yes, definitely. You are.”

Fenris looks at him, his head cocked, his eyes questioning; until he finds whatever answer he's searching for in Hawke's face and breaks into a smile. Lovely as that smile is, Hawke prefers what comes after: a kiss. 

Fenris grabs Hawke's hands and reels him in. When he's close enough those hands go around Hawke's waist and hold him tightly in place so that their bodies are pressed against each other. Hawke opens his mouth to say something – he's not even sure what – but Fenris kisses him instead. Instantly hot, searing. Hawke moans and without conscious thought he shifts, all the better for Fenris to ravish him. Fenris takes that invitation gladly, nipping hard at Hawke's bottom lip, tongue pressing into his mouth. His hips grind every so slightly against Hawke's and he feels – he feels hot, he feels dazzled, he feels _good_. 

He's lost in the kiss, utterly, gladly lost, until there's a loud laugh behind them. Hawke jerks back, startled, and blinks as his world slowly becomes more than just Hawke-and-Fenris, taking in the trees, the garden – and the fact that the laugh most definitely belonged to Isabela. 

Turning in Fenris's arms, he sees her emerge from a bush a few trees away, plucking a leaf from her hair. She offers a hand to Bethany, who is smiling widely – until she sees Hawke, that is. Her cheeks go bright red and her eyes widen. When Isabela follows her line of sight and notices them, she only laughs again and kisses Bethany soundly before sashaying past Hawke. She winks at him and says, 

“I told you we weren't _cute.”_

Bethany is still standing where she was, looking a little like a deer in headlights. 

“I – we weren't – I mean-”

“It's your birthday, Bethany,” Fenris says, and when Hawke glances at him, he sees that he's smirking. “You should enjoy it.”

“I – you're right, Fenris,” she says, but she's still blushing as she walks past them, her head held tall. 

Fenris looks up at Hawke with a look in his eye. “You should enjoy today as well.”

“You sound like you have something in mind, Fenris.”

“I have lots of things in mind, Hawke. But they're for later. For now – I suppose we'd better get back out there.”

They join Isabela and Bethany at one of the tables, along with a few others. The wait staff keep their drinks topped up, and Gamlen keeps his distance, and by the end of the evening Hawke is feeling tipsy and happy. Fenris's hand is in his on the table, and his head is leaning against his shoulder. Hawke doesn't think he'll ever really like this day, but spending it like this is definitely an improvement. 

Seeing Bethany happy helps too. She's leaning on Isabela just as Fenris is leaning on Hawke, and the way Isabela looks at her, with such gentleness, such sweetness... It makes Hawke so pleased for both of them. 

When the guests are ushered away, they head back inside as the staff start to clean up. Mum has rescued the last few bottles of wine, and leads them to the living room before going to get glasses. This room is nearer to the front of the house, with tall windows looking out onto the street. Bethany draws the curtains, and both Fenris and Isabela look with interest at the huge, gilt-framed picture of the Hawke family that sits above the fireplace. It was back when the family was still hale and whole: Mum and Dad in the middle, hands held tightly; Hawke on one side, clean-shaven with hair brushing his shoulders and wearing a shirt that somehow looks very eighties even though it's the early 2000s; the twins on the other side, Bethany smiling and Carver frowning, but he has his arm around her waist. 

“Look at how adorable you are,” Isabela says, capturing Bethany's hand and kissing it. She then looks over her shoulder and grins at Hawke. “And _you_ \- I'm liking the long hair on you, Hawke. Very nice.”

“I agree,” Fenris says, and reaches up to run his fingers through Hawke's hair. Hawke's just drunk enough that he leans into Fenris's touch and gives a satisfied sigh, not caring that they have an audience – at least not until Isabela wolf-whistles. Then he moves away, blushing, and pulls Fenris towards the other sofa. 

Fortunately before Isabela can come up with an innuendo-laden joke, Mum returns with glasses and a few platters of snacks left from the party. Since her hair had mostly come loose from its bun she's let it down over her shoulders, and draped a scarf over her shoulders. Hawke thinks, somewhat drunkenly, that she's the very picture of timeless elegance. 

“So, Bethany,” she says, settling in the armchair with wine and putting her feet on the pouffe. “What are we watching?”

“I'm thinking _Top Gun,” _she says, going over to the ridiculously ornate cabinet which houses the DVDs and rifling through it to find the one she wants. “We always watch one of Carver's favourite films today,” she explains to Fenris and Isabela. “Since it's his birthday too, we make sure to do something he'd enjoy.”__

___Top Gun_ is one of the few movies that Hawke agrees with Carver about, but he's happy to watch whatever Bethany chooses. Like she said; it's important to do something he would have liked on his birthday. Still; watching it is bittersweet, and Hawke is glad he has Fenris by his side, his hand warm and strong in his. _ _

__As much as today always hurts, this time it hurt less. Because of Fenris. Because of Isabela. Because they're all here together._ _

__The Hawke family will never be as it was. But looking around – at Bethany snoozing on Isabela's shoulder, their hands entwined in her lap; at his mum, sipping wine; at Fenris, smirking at the not-remotely-homoerotic volleyball scene – they are stronger and closer than they've been in in a long time._ _

__Suddenly feeling overly emotional, Hawke beams at Fenris and then kisses his temple. Fenris glances at him with a raised eyebrow, but instead of questioning him, he just kisses him gently instead._ _

__“Thank you,” Hawke says, and Fenris gives him another kiss before cuddling closer and turning his attention back to the television. “Thank you,” Hawke says again, not just for Fenris but for all of them, because he's grateful for all of them._ _

__They're his family._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in replying to your comments - for now just know that they are very, very much loved and appreciated.
> 
> I also wanted to share [this picture](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/143024676780/i-forgot-i-had-a-pic-of-this-on-my-phone-but-here) of the pub from the last chapter. Yes, it is real :D
> 
> And I really, really wanted to share [this AMAZING fanart](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/143186961410/art-by-g-you-scared-me-he-says-sounding) from chapter 20, like asdfghjkl _so amazing_. I love it and I think you will too  <3


	37. Chapter 37

When Hawke wakes, Fenris is still asleep. Soft morning light trickles into the room around the curtains, painting Fenris's hair palest gold. Hawke gazes at him; at his long black lashes, at lips slightly parted; at his shoulder and arm where it rests above the sheets, at the looping white lines of his tattoo. It's such a peaceful moment, such a perfect one. Hawke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of waking up with Fenris by his side. Of the sweet satisfaction of knowing that he's here because he _wants_ to be here, because he wants to be with Hawke. And yesterday - yesterday was ten times, a hundred times better because Fenris was here. Hawke's _life_ is better because Fenris is in it.

Smiling, Hawke leans forward slightly to kiss Fenris's hand, only inches away; instantly Fenris's eyes open, his body tense, but he relaxes when he sees Hawke.

"Sorry," Hawke whispers, and Fenris gives him a sleepy smile before stretching luxuriously and shifting closer to Hawke, kissing him softly on the lips.

"Good morning," Fenris says as he slides his arm around Hawke's waist and then takes a moment to look at him. "How are you feeling?"

Hawke considers. "Not bad. A lot better since you're here."

"Oh?"

"I always feel better when I wake up with you."

Fenris smiles, ducking his head; his hair brushes Hawke's face. Hawke lifts his hand to brush through it, enjoying the different lengths of the freshly-cut style. Fenris closes his eyes and smiles, enjoying the attention. He opens one eye and looks at Hawke, still smiling.

"Isabela was right; you did look good with long hair."

"I had it like that for a while - most of the way through uni. In fact-" Hawke stops. He was about to tell Fenris about his short-lived modelling career - just six months or so and not more than a handful of shoots before it became obvious he couldn't juggle it and uni at the same time. But they were pretty darn racy shoots. He's not embarrassed or anything like that, but it's not something he tells just anyone. Of course, Fenris is far, far from _just anyone_.

"In fact?" Fenris prompts.

"I think this is something that is better explained with pictures," Hawke says, and after planting a kiss on the tip of Fenris's nose, he gets out of bed and goes to his desk. In the bottom drawer along with all his uni notes that he's keeping _just in case,_ there's a box file. He pulls it out and brings it back to the bed, where Fenris is now sitting up and sporting an adorable bed head.

Hawke sits down by his side and puts a hand to the top of the file. "This - it's not a secret exactly, but I've not told many people. So I'd appreciate it if you keep it quiet."

Both Fenris's eyebrows raise, and a smirk plays at the corners of his lips. "You're being very mysterious, Hawke. I hope this is worth the build up."

"You tell me," Hawke says, handing over the file.

Fenris takes it, running his hand over the front of it before opening.

Inside, stored carefully, are a series of professional photos and copies of the magazines they appeared in. Hawke doesn't pay much attention to the photos; instead he looks at Fenris's reaction. Startled at first, he quickly starts to smile; at one point he bites his lip in an incredibly sexy way, and when Hawke glances down at the photos in his hands he's not surprised to see the sexiest shoot he did, mostly naked save for an artfully draped cloth.

"I, uh-" Hawke starts, not quite sure what he's going to say, but Fenris grabs the front of his t-shirt and pulls him in for a searing kiss, slick and sexy, tongues and bitten lips and Fenris's nails under Hawke's tee, scratching down his back. It's good, _god_ it's good. Only seconds in and Hawke is hard, he wants _more-_

Which of course means that is the moment Bethany chooses to knock at the door.

"Garrett? Are you awake?"

Pulling back and breathing hard, with Fenris smirking at him Hawke says, "Yep, we're up."

"Mum's started breakfast; it'll be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay, we'll meet you downstairs."

Fenris is still smirking, so Hawke kisses him again.

"Can I assume you like the photos?"

"God, yes," Fenris says. "I think I need a cold shower after that."

"We could have one together," Hawke suggests, and that's maybe not quite what Fenris meant, but sharing a shower and giving each other a handjob does the trick nicely. They even manage to get downstairs just in time for breakfast, though Isabela gives them a look that suggests she knows exactly what they were just up to.

The dining room is ridiculously fancy, as most of the rooms in this house are. It's white, with tall windows and dramatic drapery. The light fixtures are all gilt, as is the chandelier (yes, chandelier). There are a number of paintings on the walls, landscapes and seascapes, some done by his mother, some by an ancestor with a moody Turner-esque style. As if all this grandeur wasn't enough, Hawke's slightly embarrassed to see that the table has been set with the best silverware, along with napkins in silver rings, and the best china has already been laid out.

"Good morning, Garrett," Mum says as she brings the teapot to the table. "And good morning, Fenris. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you."

"Good," she says, and then puts a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "Darling, why don't you come and help me bring the food in?"

"Of course, Mum," he says, and goes with her into the kitchen. It smells amazing in there - she's gone all out. There's bacon and sausages, fried bread, tomatoes and mushrooms, and a fancy version of baked beans along with various kinds of egg. Multiple varieties of toast as well as English muffins and crumpets, pastries and danishes.

"I don't get to cook very much these days," she says when he comments on it, and pats his arm. "You should bring Fenris over for dinner one night. I can make something nice and we can get to know one another better. Since you've been keeping him all to yourself for months, it's only fair."

"I'll see when we're both free," he says, pleased that his mum likes Fenris so much. _Obviously_ she does - he's amazing - but it still makes him happy to see it confirmed.

They take the food out into the dining room, setting it out on the table before taking their seats.

"I just want to thank you all for coming," Mum says, smiling at them all. "It means a lot to have us all here together like this. Like a family."

Isabela is sat opposite Hawke, and he's interested to see her reaction - a slightly crooked smile, like she doesn't quite believe the words; but then Bethany takes her hand and squeezes it, and the smile becomes warmer, more real.

He then looks at Fenris, who's gazing down at his plate, his cheeks slightly pink. Hawke leans over and whispers, _I told you so,_ and the blush gets deeper.

Everyone eats as much as they can, but inevitably there are lots of leftovers. That means that Sam gets a very special breakfast treat, and he's overjoyed when Hawke fills his bowl.

Hawke smiles at him, scratching his head and gives him a big hug; he gets a slobbery doggy kiss in return and laughs, wiping his cheek.

"Eat up, Sam," Hawke tells him. They'll go for a walk afterwards but Hawke knows better than to say the word in his presence. To say that Sam enjoys walkies is to be a master of understatement. 

Instead Hawke retires to the sitting room, where everyone is recovering from the mightiest of breakfasts. There's not much talking, not after that amount of food; instead Bethany flicks through the TV channels, stopping at Isabela's insistence when she finds a documentary about pirates.

"I always wanted to be a pirate when I was little," she says softly, almost to herself, her eyes transfixed by the billowing white sails onscreen.

"Inspired by Jack Sparrow, were you?" Hawke asks with a grin.

"As much as I approve of a roguish Johnny Depp, no," Isabela says. "I know that I look amazingly youthful but I was eighteen when the first movie came out." She sips her tea and looks thoughtful. "Although he does say something that explained _why_ I wanted to be a pirate. That a ship is freedom. That's what I wanted. To be free to sail my own course."

"You can," Bethany says softly, taking her hand and squeezing it. "You can do anything you want. Even sail a ship."

"Don't tempt me, kitten," she says, and kisses her. “I'd never be able to afford to ship so I'd have to steal one. Then again, that would be a very suitable start to a career in piracy, wouldn't it?”

Although Hawke doesn't know the details, he knows that Isabela's mother tried to force her into marriage when she was young, mostly to get her out of the way; a nasty piece of work all around. Given that background it makes sense that freedom is so important to her.

"I agree," Fenris says. "About freedom, not about piracy. To be able to control your own life - there's nothing more important."

Isabela grins at him and lounges back on the sofa, her moment of vulnerability clearly over. "Not piracy? Are you sure? I think you'd make a very sexy pirate. Hawke too. You two could be the brawn; we'll be the brains. And Leandra - what about you? Would you like to join our crew?"

Leandra looks thoughtful for a moment. "I get seasick, so I'll pass. How about I stay on land - a noble lady, trusted by all, who fences your booty?"

Hawke sputters that his mother could come up with such an idea as Isabela claps her hands.

"That's brilliant, I love it! As soon as I get my very own Black Pearl, we'll make it happen."

"It's a deal," his mum says, a little too seriously, and Hawke genuinely worries for a moment that if somehow Isabela did manage to get her own ship - and it honestly wouldn't surprise him - that she will rope them all into this.

"Don't look so worried, Garrett," Bethany says with a laugh. "We're just joking."

"You might be. I'm less sure about Isabela."

"Come on, Hawke. Can't you see Fenris dressed up as a pirate? Wearing tight trousers, and nothing but a waistcoat up top? Showing off all those lovely muscles."

Hawke makes a strangled noise and both Isabela and Fenris laugh at him. Bethany and their mum at least have the politeness to hide their grin behind their hands.

Later, as Fenris joins Hawke and Sam on their walk, he suggests that he dress up as a pirate one night, just for Hawke; Hawke's not sure if he's joking, and sort of hopes he's not.

When they get back to the house there are lots of hugs. Isabela's staying a few more days, and declines the offer of a lift.

"Remember, the offer to dinner is open any time you'd like," his mum says, kissing him on the cheek. "And bring Fenris."

"I will, Mum," he says, hugging her tightly. "Promise."

They set off back to London at a leisurely pace. They're both working tomorrow but it's not even lunchtime yet. The whole day is ahead of them, and Hawke would very much like to spend it with Fenris. When they arrive at Fenris's place and Fenris invites him in, Hawke's pleased to see that Fenris is of the same mind.

“You want to spend the day with me?”

"Of course. I'll make coffee," he adds, and Hawke grins at him.

"You know I can never resist your coffee, Fenris," he says, and Fenris smiles.

"I know; why do you think I asked?"

"Do you have plans?"

"I have a lot of plans," Fenris says without elaborating. He doesn't need to; Hawke is his whatever the plan.

They go inside and Fenris makes them coffee, which is, of course, amazing. What he says when they've finished their drinks is even more amazing.

He looks at Hawke for a long moment; those green eyes looking into Hawke's make him feel a little lightheaded, in a good way. They're sitting close on the sofa, Hawke's arm over the back of it, his hand resting on Fenris's shoulder. He wants to kiss him but there's something about this moment; the air feels heady with anticipation and Hawke doesn't dare say anything.

"Hawke," Fenris says, his voice deep and rough, and Hawke's cock twitches at the sound of it.

"Yes?"

A moment passes. Looking into Hawke's eyes, Fenris licks his lips and says, "I want to suck your cock."

Hawke stares at him, heartbeat hammering in his ears. His first instinct is _YES,_ loud and jubilant - he can't deny that he's thought _a lot_ about Fenris sucking him off, about those lips around his cock, the warm wetness of his tongue and-

Hawke cuts the thought off before he gets carried away. He's _thought_ about it, but he was never sure if Fenris would want to after all the shit Danarius put him through. Fenris doing something he's not ready for is the last thing in the world that Hawke wants.

"Are you sure?" Hawke asks, and Fenris nods, and there's nothing but certainty in his eyes.

"Yes. I've been thinking about it for months, Hawke," he says, and then the corner of his lips tugs into a smile. "Actually, I thought about it before we even kissed. Repeatedly." Now _that's_ a fascinating little fact that Hawke is definitely interested in finding out more about, but that can come later. Right now all his attention is on this moment, on Fenris. "I guess seeing those photos of you modelling just did it for me."

"Oh my god, Fenris," Hawke says, and laughs. "You really liked them that much?"

"Let's just say I wouldn't mind taking a few of my own," he grins. "I - I might be a little out of practice, though. At blow jobs, that is. Not photography."

Hawke looks at Fenris closely. He's relaxed, he's smiling; it seems that he really does want this. 

"If you're _sure_ you're ready for this, then I definitely don't mind letting you practice on me."

Fenris laughs, and then kisses Hawke. "That's very noble of you, Hawke."

"I'm always noble when it comes to blow jobs," Hawke says, and Fenris laughs harder. 

“You're a ridiculous man,” he says, and kisses him; Hawke can feel him smiling against his lips. Fenris puts a hand to the back of Hawke's head, his fingers curling in his hair. The sweet kiss begins to simmer as Fenris slides his tongue into Hawke's mouth, as his hand runs over Hawke's cock. 

_Fuck,_ Hawke thinks, putting a hand to Fenris's waist but not doing anything further – Fenris needs to be completely in control here. This is a big deal for him, Hawke knows that, and he wants to give him every chance to stop, or slow down. 

It appears that Fenris does _not_ want to slow down. He pulls back, breathing hard, looking into Hawke's eyes for one moment and giving one last kiss before sliding down to the floor. He moves to kneel in between Hawke's legs, pushing them further apart to give himself more room. He looks down at Hawke's cock, where it is quite clearly visible in his jeans, and the _hunger_ on his face makes Hawke swallow. 

Fenris looks up at him and says, “I've thought about this for so long, Hawke. How you'd taste; what it would feel like. I want you so much.” His voice is ragged, brimming over with need, and Hawke can only nod; it takes him a good few seconds to remember how thoughts work, and a couple more before he manages to activate his mouth. 

“If you need to stop, or anything like that, just do it, okay?” He says. “Or if you need a break, take it. Don't feel like you have to keep going just because you started.”

Fenris frowns, just for a split second, and Hawke's pretty sure he's thinking about the night they slept together – which is exactly the situation Hawke wants to avoid. 

“Don't push yourself,” he says softly, and cups Fenris's cheek. “I want you to feel safe. Comfortable.”

“You _always_ make me feel safe,” Fenris says. “You also always make me feel incredibly bloody horny. I really, really want to suck your cock, Hawke. I'm certain about that.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Fenris reaches for Hawke's belt buckle, and Hawke is suddenly very aware that this is really happening. With that awareness comes a sudden nervousness that doesn't even make any sense. What's he worried about? Fenris has seen his cock before – multiple times – and as far as Hawke's aware, he likes what he sees. But what if – what if-

_Please be quiet,_ Hawke begs his brain. 

Luckily, when Fenris pulls Hawke's cock out of his jeans and starts to stroke him, it steals his ability to think, swept away by a fierce, animal pleasure. 

Looking down and seeing Fenris between his legs, his tattooed hand on his cock, just makes everything _real._ And when Fenris leans in a little and Hawke can feel his warm breath on the head - _fuck_. He doesn't move any closer, not yet, but just that on its own is incredibly hot. Like, seriously one of the hottest things Hawke's ever experienced. 

Fenris glances up, smiles at whatever he sees on Hawke's face – Hawke doesn't even care what he looks like, Fenris has his hand on Hawke's cock and all is right with his world. 

And then– 

Then Fenris licks his cock. 

Just a small lick, just under the head, but fuck, _fuck_. Hawke's mouth drops open and he has to bite his lip, hard, to stop himself from making an embarrassing noise. His tongue is warm, and hot, and after that first lick, all tentativeness melts away. Fenris holds Hawke's cock at the base and licks him all over until he's slick and shining. Fenris looks up at him again and grins. 

“You taste good, Hawke,” he says, and the only response Hawke can give is a garbled mewl. Fenris chuckles; that's answer enough, apparently. After licking him again, Fenris pauses just for a second, just enough time to look up at Hawke, before taking the head in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” gasps Hawke, feeling dizzy with how good that feels, with how good that _looks,_ how much it means that Fenris is comfortable doing this. “God, _Fenris,”_ he says, and if that sounds almost reverent, it matches how he feels. 

Fenris goes slowly, takes Hawke a little deeper, strokes his fingers up to meet his lips and Hawke swears again. There is no way, no possible way that he can last long, especially when Fenris gets a rhythm going, sucking him and stroking him at the same time. 

As good as it feels, knowing that it's Fenris makes everything so much better, god, _Fenris_ \- Hawke realises he's saying that out loud, gasping Fenris's name. It makes Fenris look up at him, his lips stretched around Hawke's cock and _jesus fucking christ_ this might turn out to be the quickest orgasm of Hawke's life but he is so damn close. The pleasure is wound tightly in him like a coiled spring, he can't take much more of this, he needs _release_.

“I'm – I'm gonna – I'm close,” Hawke gasps, and Fenris glances up at him to acknowledge what he's said but he doesn't stop what he's doing. Hot mouth and firm grip, slick and tight and _oh fuck, fuck, FUCK_ \- 

“I'm gonna come,” Hawke manages, and still Fenris doesn't pull away-

And he's coming, in Fenris's mouth, crying out with his head thrown back and pleasure _consumes_ him, obliterates him. 

For a moment – a long moment – all Hawke can do is sit there, breathing hard, his whole body heavy and warm and blissful. 

_Fenris,_ he thinks with fuzzy happiness, and with great difficulty manages to lift his head to look down at him. 

Fenris is sitting back on his haunches, one hand still on Hawke's thigh, the other running through his hair. 

“Fuck,” Hawke says, even more eloquent than he usually is. “That was - _you_ are – amazing. God. I just – are you okay? Are you-?”

“I'm good,” Fenris says, his voice still deep and rough. “I'm – fuck, Hawke. That was – I always hoped it would be like that with you. When I thought about doing that – that's what I wanted. And you-” He shakes his head and then climbs into Hawke's lap, grabbing a handful of his hair not-gently and kissing him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, _ravishing_ him. Exhausted and blissed out as he is, Hawke is very happy to let Fenris do whatever he likes, especially when it's this, and especially when he can taste himself on Fenris's tongue. 

When he finally pulls back so that they can both catch their breath, they grin at each other. 

“So,” Hawke says. “You like to swallow?”

“Mmm,” Fenris says with a smirk, and then he's kissing Hawke again, grabbing Hawke's hand and putting it to his cock, still hard; Hawke gets the message. 

Without breaking the kiss he manages to get Fenris's fly open and pull his cock out. He starts to stroke him, and almost instantly Fenris is gasping and whining into the kiss – apparently he _really_ enjoyed giving that blowjob. In maybe a minute he's coming, turning his face aside as he does, gasping and panting, his fingers digging into Hawke's shoulders. He hides his face against Hawke's neck as he catches his breath and Hawke holds him tight, kissing his hair. 

“You're wonderful,” Hawke tells him. “So wonderful. I'm so lucky to have you in my life. So fucking lucky.” 

Fenris lifts his head and smiles at him, tired and utterly satisfied. “Yes,” he says with a grin. “You are.” He kisses Hawke and adds, “And so am I.”

They sit there with their foreheads touching, and slowly the rest of the world swims back into focus. The man in his arms remains the most important thing in it, though. Pulling back a little, Hawke looks at Fenris, who still has a small smile playing over his lips. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he says. “Happy. You?”

“The same, definitely. I just-” He pauses, wondering how to word it, wondering if he should even ask. Fenris said that he hasn't been with a man since Danarius – Hawke wants to be sure that unwanted memories aren't going to make an unwelcome appearance, and most importantly that Fenris feels _safe_. “Are you – okay?”

Fenris lifts his head, and his eyes widen a little as he realises what Hawke means. “Yes,” he says. “I am. I'm very okay, Hawke.”

“It's just – last time – at first you didn't-”

“I know. But this is different.” He shakes his head. “I was ready for this. I made sure of it before I even suggested. It's sweet of you to worry, but there's no need.” 

“I'll always worry about you, Fenris,” Hawke says. 

Fenris only shakes his head and then kisses Hawke – it's a dirty trick, he knows full well that it's the perfect way to distract him. 

“So,” Fenris says. “How about we get a shower, I lend you a t-shirt since yours is now covered in come, and we go find somewhere to get lunch?”

That sounds pretty much perfect, and it also gives Hawke the chance to make sure that Fenris really is okay. 

“You really are full of the best ideas,” Hawke says. “A blow job followed by lunch is pretty much my idea of a perfect day.”

“Mine too,” Fenris grins. “And maybe after we get back, you can blow me?” 

“Like I said: best ideas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have FINALLY finished moving! I'm so happy that I won't have to cart 3+ heavy bags and a suitcase on the bus ever again xDDD Next time I am absolutely going to stop being such a cheapskate and hire a mover... 
> 
> ANYWAY. The important stuff. This week there have been TWO pieces of fanart for this fic! I can't believe it, I'm so freaking lucky <3 There is a [gorgeous piece of Fenris right here](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/143544971720/art-by-g-tonights-sketch) as well as an [adorable picture of the boys here.](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/143705308220/sumomosketches-here-have-some-non-scene) Honestly you guys are so amazing <3 <3 <3


	38. Chapter 38

It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, there's not a cloud in the sky. It's one of the first nice days of the year - and at the weekend no less. This being London, everyone has decided that this might also be the _last_ nice day in the whole year and have headed outside.

Hawke and his friends are no different.

They've gathered in Greenwich Park, them and hundreds of other people. Isabela and Varric are here, as is Aveline - sans Donnic, which Isabela is teasing her mercilessly about. When Hawke went up Anders's flat this morning to invite him, Karl was there too, so both of them are here. Fenris is working today but he'll be joining them in an hour or so; overall today is set up to be amazing.

They have a picnic blanket beneath them - red plaid, Hawke is pleased to see. He wasn't entirely surprised that Varric had one; he's the type of man who is prepared for every eventuality, picnics included. He even has an actual-factual picnic basket, wicker with a matching plaid lining. It contains glassware and proper crockery and cutlery, quite delightful and far too classy for the collection of ready-made sandwiches, sausage rolls, quiche and cakes that they bought in Sainsbury's on the way here. There's wine and beer too, in a cooler, several bottles of which have already been opened - the first casualties of the afternoon.

Isabela, taking her cue from the rest of London, has donned shorts and a vest-top, sandals too. It's not _that_ warm, but it's a fine British tradition to wear summer clothes as soon as a sunny day cracks 10 degrees celcius. Not that Hawke can talk; he's wearing shorts too, khaki ones, along with Chucks and a shirt that matches the picnic blanket. Aveline and Varric are both much more sensible in jeans and t-shirts, but what Anders and Karl are wearing is much less important than the way they're looking at each other.

Hawke's fascinated to see a romanced Anders from the outside, as it were. Since Anders hasn't been in a relationship with anyone else since they met, it's interesting to see it for the first time. The smiles and touches that Hawke remembers from their own relationship; other gestures that seem unique to him being with Karl: forehead kisses, ankle stroking. It's really quite sweet.

It does, of course, mean that Isabela and Varric are teasing them about it, but Karl is taking it in his stride, with smiles and jokes of his own.

"If you think we're sappy now you should've seen us when we were in uni," Karl says, and Isabela leans in.

"Please, tell us more," she says, and pats Anders's knee. "I've always wanted to know how studly teenage Anders was."

Karl laughs and Anders gives a scowl that's somehow also somehow a smile. "I'm afraid I only met Anders when he was twenty, and I'm not sure studly is ever a word that could have described him. Sorry, love," he adds, then pauses and gives Anders a measuring look; Anders in turn looks slightly concerned.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't say it."

"A word I'd use to describe Anders," Karl says thoughtfully, ignoring the protest. "Hmm. Statuesque? Bird-like? Gawky? Do those words even belong together in the same description?"

"Bird-like and gawky I'll agree with," Isabela says. "But statuesque I'd say belongs more to Hawke."

"Leave me out of this," Hawke says quickly - it had been so nice to have someone else be the centre of the teasing for once. But of course, his protests have come too late.

"I suppose it depends on what sort of statue you're talking about," Varric says, looking at Hawke with a smirk. "A lumberjack statue?"

"God, yes. I want one in my garden," Isabela says.

"Oh, Solas would love that," snorts Varric, but Isabela shrugs.

"I would, Bull would and Jethann would. He's outvoted."

"Do they even make lumberjack statues?" Aveline asks with a raised eyebrow. 

"If they do I'm getting one. The thought of annoying Solas is too tempting." Solas is one of Varric's editors, recently moved to London. Hawke assumes that Varric doesn't like him much, because he suggested Solas stay with Isabela until he finds a place of his own. He's quiet, often lost in thought or a book. He's also very certain he's smarter than everyone else and likes to let them know that. It's gotten him on Isabela's bad side; Hawke sort of pities him. "But!" Isabela continues. "Our own real-life lumberjack is looking very nice today. All dressed up for Fenris, hmm?"

"I wouldn't call it dressed up," Hawke says; if anything he's worried he looks a bit scruffy. Not that he thinks Fenris will mind. Judging from the texts Fenris sent this morning, as soon as they get home Hawke will be wearing nothing at all. Since sucking Hawke's cock for the first time three weeks ago, they've spent pretty much every night together. Fenris said he wanted to get his technique perfected; Hawke can say with absolute certainty that he has succeeded. It's also meant Hawke giving Fenris lots of blowjobs in return and that's something he enjoys almost as much as receiving them.

"No, you are!" Isabela says, grabbing the front of Hawke's shirt and pulling him out of pleasant thoughts of blowjobs. She starts unbuttoning his shirt, ignoring his protests. "See, you're finally wearing nothing underneath your shirt, showing off your chest-" She stops when she sees that Hawke is wearing a very hipsterish low-cut vest under his shirt. Her lips thin in disappointment. "Well. At least you're showing off your cleavage," she says, and pats his chest. "Fenris will appreciate that."

"You'd know all about cleavage," Aveline says, pouring herself a glass of beer and topping up Hawke's with what's left in the bottle.

"Obviously," Isabela says with a smile and a wink as she pushes her boobs together a little more. "Want some advice, Big Girl? I bet Donnic would appreciate it."

 _"Stop,"_ Aveline says, and Hawke tries not to laugh.

He does smile though; not at Aveline's discomfort but at being here in the sun with his friends. Life is good, and it's even better when he sees Fenris approaching.

Fenris - as if there was ever any doubt - looks gorgeous. Tight black jeans and a grey top with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The ever-present beanie is - well, present - and he smiles warmly when he sees them.

Hawke stands, only a little awkward when his knee gives a bit and he has to steady himself on Aveline's shoulder.

"Hello," Hawke says, limping over to Fenris and kissing him gently. "You're here."

"So I am. Have you been drinking already?"

"Only one beer. I didn't want to get too far ahead of you."

"How sweet," Fenris says with a smile, and then squeezes Hawke's hand before taking a seat at the blanket. He greets everyone and smiles wider when Hawke gives him the plate with food saved just for him.

"I know you like berries so I saved you the nicest looking ones," Hawke says and Fenris nods.

"Thank you," he says, popping a raspberry into his mouth, and then giving Hawke a sweet kiss.

Varric tells them all about the book that he's in the middle of editing – his agent sounds very interested. It's a romance, and the more he talks the more Hawke realises that all those jokes about making the trails of his courtship with Fenris into a story weren't actually jokes. 

“Don't you dare, Varric,” Hawke says, mortified by the idea. To say that there have been a lot of embarrassing moments is an understatement, and he's sure that Varric will get each and every one in there. 

“Come on, Hawke. I was thinking of tying it into Hard in Hightown – making your cameo from the second book into the main character of this one. Fame and fortune awaits.”

“I don't want either,” Hawke moans. “You're going to make me look ridiculous.”

“Some might say you do that yourself, Hawke,” Aveline says, and Hawke gives her a wounded look. 

“I thought you were on my side.”

“I am. Most of the time. But I think I'm owed a little vengeance after what happened with Donnic.”

Hawke moans again, but when Fenris declares that he doesn't mind at all and starts talking about artistic license – albeit while grinning at Hawke's discomfort. 

“No-one's going to know it's you,” he adds, and squeezes his knee. “Besides; aren't you interested in seeing what happened through someone else's eyes?”

Since Hawke's just been looking at Anders in a similar way, he supposes he is. A little bit. In the end he agrees, but makes Varric promise not to make him look _too_ bad. 

Isabela then tells them about the latest Adventures of Solas – he really does sound like a nightmare to live with, for Isabela and her housemates especially. From the way Varric is grinning, Hawke wonders if it's all a plan for the _next_ book – if all the novels from here on out are going to be based on their lives. Would anyone even read that?

When Hawke looks over, Fenris and Karl are talking amicably; Fenris has warmed up slightly from his polite-but-cool stage, and Anders looks unimpressed.

Leaning in, Hawke says, "Looks like we got that double date after all," and Anders scowls at him.

"Don't," he says, picking a blade of grass from the blanket and standing up, stretching his legs.

"Ooh, since you're on your feet why don't you go get us an ice cream?" Isabela suggest, pointing at the kiosk on the hill. "I'll have mint chocolate chip."

Anders argues with her but in the end he goes, Hawke at his side and Varric's wallet in his hand since he generously offered to buy.

"What is it with you and Fenris?" Hawke asks. "It's been months and nothing's actually happened between you - I don't understand why you're both like this for no reason."

"I just don't like him. And he doesn't like me. We're in a state of mutual dislike. But look: we've been sitting alongside each other all afternoon and we've not snapped at each other once. Isn't that enough?"

Deciding to leave it there rather than get into an argument with Anders about something he can't change, however much he'd like everyone to get along, he asks about Karl instead and instantly Anders's expression softens.

"Things are going well," he says, beaming. "Really well. It's been a long time since I've been this happy."

"I'm happy for you," Hawke says, putting an arm around Anders's shoulders and giving him a one-armed hug.

"And - I suppose I'm happy for you, too," Anders says. "I might not like Fenris but I see how much you smile when you're with him. Whatever I think of him, you clearly adore him."

"I do," Hawke says, smiling as the reach the ice cream kiosk and join the end of the queue. He squints up at the menu. "What did everyone want again?"

===

It's two hours and three beers later before Hawke looks down at his arm and sees that it's bright red.

"Bugger," he says.

Fenris looks at him and then frowns when Hawke lifts his sunburned arm. "Your nose and your neck, too," he says, touching the back of Hawke's neck gently. It hurts, ever so slightly. "Do you have some aftersun?"

"I do at home."

"Then perhaps we should get it. It might be a good idea for you to get out of the sun anyway. I remember my sister getting very ill from staying in the sun too long." He looks so concerned; it's very sweet, and Hawke has to kiss him.

"It's just a bit of sunburn, Fenris."

"Still," Fenris says. "I'd prefer to get you inside."

"I'd bet you would," Isabela calls from the other side of the blanket, and winks at them. She does frown a little when she sees how red Hawke is. "Honestly, Hawke, he's right. Get your pasty self inside and undercover. Although why you're burnt and Little Miss Redhead here isn't I don't know."

"Because I'm wearing 50SPF sun screen," Aveline says, and Isabela snorts.

"Of course you are."

"I have some in my bag if you'd like some, Hawke," she says, but he shakes his head.

"The damage has been done, I'm afraid," he says. "I think Fenris is right; we better head off."

Aveline gives him a bottle of water and tells him very firmly to get hydrated and to wear sun screen next time, _honestly_ , but eventually lets them go.

As they walk back to Hawke's flat, Fenris slips his hand in Hawke's.

"I don't think you mentioned your sister before," Hawke says, keeping his voice nonchalant, not sure if this is something that will make Fenris clam up.

"I haven't seen her for years," Fenris says with a shrug and then looks at Hawke. "She's even paler than you are, so maybe I'm overreacting but - well, I don't want you to get ill, Hawke."

"I'm fine, Fenris. Really," he adds, and takes a gulp of water to show how he is, belatedly, looking after his health. They walk a little further, and Hawke tries to keep quiet, he really does, but curiosity gets the better of him. "What's your sister's name?"

"Varania," Fenris says, and smirks. "Our mother was a bit of a hippy - hence the weird names."

"What did your dad think of them?"

"He liked mine; but Varania isn't his - she's my half-sister. Her dad didn't stick around for long - I don't think Mum wanted him to, to be honest. I think she wanted another kid more than she wanted a partner." He's quiet for a moment. It doesn't surprise Hawke; he knows Fenris doesn't like to talk about his past. He's surprised he's said this much, and even more when he continues. "You wouldn't even know we were related to look at us. She takes after her dad, who was Irish, I think. And I take after mine, with his Middle Eastern parents. I think she likes it that way - I think she prefers to think we aren't related."

"What? Why?" Hawke can't imagine anyone not wanting Fenris in their life; nor can he imagine someone not wanting to know their sibling.

"I met up with her a few years ago. I hadn't seen her since we were kids. And she was – she said she wanted nothing to do with me. It's funny," he says, without a trace of humour in his voice. "I could understand if it was because I'd been in jail, if - if she didn't want to be associated with a criminal-"

"Fenris," Hawke starts, ready to defend him, but he shakes his head and continues, softly.

"It was because I like men. She heard - I don't even know how - about some of the boys I was with in school, after I went into foster care. None of them ever meant anything, just typical teenage stuff, you know? But she heard about it and told me it was disgusting."

"Jesus," Hawke says. He knows he's been lucky; all his family have been incredibly accepting of him being gay, and not every family is like that. But still - it's hard for him to imagine a sister being so cruel. "I'm sorry, Fenris."

"Me too," he says softly, and then shakes his head. "That got depressing quickly, didn't it?"

"If you need to talk about it-"

"It's fine. Your sunburn just reminded me of her. It's funny how memories work sometimes."

Hawke nods. "Yeah. Salt and vinegar crisps always remind me of my dad."

"Seriously?"

"Yup. So if you ever see me blubbering into a packet of crisps you know why."

Fenris squeezes his hand and smiles at him. "Thank you, Hawke."

"What for?"

"For listening. For making me smile. For - for being you. My life is so much better with you in it."

They smile at each other - the same is very true for Hawke - and the conversation moves onto lighter matters. Fenris's day, Hawke's week, going somewhere for the bank holiday. 

By the time they get to Hawke's flat, the sunburn has started to sting, especially where his collar is rubbing against it. 

“I think I'm going to have a cold shower,” Hawke says, gently touching his arm and neck, where the skin is red and hot. He strips off his shirt and vest, and winces to see redness on his chest, too. “And then maybe you could put the aftersun on for me.”

"We could share a shower," Fenris suggests, his eyes exploring Hawke's body appreciatively. "And if you're up for it, we could share other things after."

"I am most definitely up for that," Hawke says, but when he looks in his cupboard he sees that he doesn't have any aftersun after all. He considers going without and just doing the shower and after-shower-fun thing, but the way his skin is starting to feel overly hot and painful suggest that would be unwise.

"I'll come with you," Fenris says when Hawke says he's going to nip to the supermarket to get some.

"It's alright; you get a shower, if you want, and I'll get one when I get back. As long as we still get to have fun after."

"It's a deal," Fenris grins, and gives Hawke a fierce kiss, a promise of what's to come.

When Hawke gets back, prize in hand along with more beers and ingredients to make a tasty salad for dinner - which is to say, lots of meat and cheese alongside the veggies - Fenris has just gotten out of the shower. He's just wearing a grey pair of boxer briefs and a lazy smile as he dries his hair with a towel.

"Welcome back," he says and gives Hawke a kiss as he hands him fresh towels. "I'll put the cream on for you when you get out. And I'll get dinner together."

"It's fine, I'll do it - it's my flat-"

"Let me look after you for once, Hawke," Fenris says, kissing him once more and holding both his hands. "Please?"

Hawke agrees – it _is_ nice to be looked after. After a few moments more of kissing – more than a few, honestly – he heads off to the bathroom.

He puts the shower on its lowest intensity and a nice cool temperature – it means turning it down a lot, since Fenris seems to favour showers of the hot and steamy kind. 

As he stands under the cool, soothing water, all Hawke can think about is Fenris wanting to look after him. He _does_ look after him. Bethany's birthday - he wouldn't have survived that nearly as well if Fenris wasn't there. And not just that - far from just that. Every time Hawke sees Fenris it makes his day better - and since he's the first person he talks to most mornings, either by his side in bed or at Deep Roads, that means pretty much every day is better than they were in the sad and lonely pre-Fenris days.

It's just - seeing his smile. His pretty green eyes. White hair, elegant long-fingered hands, his monochrome clothes. 

Everything about him makes Hawke happy.

Hawke adores him.

Hawke _loves_ him. Deeply and fiercely. More, perhaps, than he's ever loved anyone. There's a rock-solid certainty that this is love, that this is right where Hawke belongs, that he's never felt before. That whatever else happens, whatever else changes, Fenris will be there.

And Hawke should tell him. He really should. But whenever he thinks about it, a thread of panic winds through him, around his throat, trapping the words.

Why is it so hard to say it when he feels it so deeply?

But when he gets out of the shower he hears soft singing coming from the kitchen, and goes to watch Fenris standing at the cutting board preparing their dinner as he sings - god, he's got a good voice. Hawke thinks _I am so lucky,_ his heart swelling and happiness seeping through him, and says, in an awed almost-whisper,

"I love you so much."

Fenris stops dead - his song falls silent.

Panic starts to bubble in Hawke - _I shouldn't have said it, he wasn't ready_ \- but then Fenris turns to look at him.

His eyes are slightly wide, his lips parted. He blinks - and then steps forward. Just one step, and then he stops. He looks at Hawke again, mouth moving silently, then his eyes close.

"Say it again," he asks, his voice rough, pleading.

"I love you," Hawke says, and Fenris makes a small noise, almost a whine, almost a purr.

"Hawke," he whispers, and Hawke closes the distance between them, putting his hands on Fenris's hips.

"I'll say it as many times as you need me to," Hawke says. "And even more than that. I should have said it before now-"

Then Fenris is kissing him, _really_ kissing him, putting his arms around his neck-

And sudden pain makes Hawke jerk away, instinctively.

"Sorry," Hawke gasps, putting a protective hand to his neck. "The sunburn."

"Sorry! Are you-"

"I'm fine, yeah, it's just - a bit tender, you know."

 _"God,"_ Fenris says and then laughs. Hawke laughs too - it's _funny_ , only he could spoil such a perfect moment like that. The laughter abates and they just smile at each other for a moment, before Fenris rests his hands on Hawke's chest and kisses him, very gently. "Where's the aftersun?"

After Hawke points it out, Fenris grabs it and takes him to the bedroom. He pushes Hawke gently into his front, and sits on his hips. Hawke's body reacts to that, the weight of Fenris on top of him, and his cock twitches in interest.

"There are so many things I would like you to do to me in this position," Hawke says, and Fenris laughs, squeezing some of the aftersun into his hand.

"There are so many things I want to do to you, and not just in this position. But right now the aftersun is a priority."

Reluctantly, Hawke agrees.

Putting it on is more of a massage than anything else, liberally interrupted by kisses and tender looks that make Hawke think that this was, in fact, the exact right time to tell Fenris. And though Fenris doesn't say the words, every look, every kiss and touch, tell Hawke he feels the same.

When the aftersun is on and the pain and heat have abated, Fenris rests his hands on the curve of Hawke's lower back for a moment. When Hawke looks over his shoulder he sees him looking thoughtful. Before he can ask, Fenris shifts so that he can pull the towel from Hawke's hips and push his legs apart. Hawke raises a questioning eyebrow but doesn't say anything. He's interested to see where this is going.

Fenris sits between his legs, running his hands down Hawke's thighs, then scratching his nails over his arse. 

“You're so gorgeous,” Fenris says, biting his lip, and then meets Hawke's eyes. For a moment he only breathes, his chest rising and falling, and then he says, “I want to rim you, Hawke.”

Oh. 

_Oh_. 

“Okay,” Hawke breathes, and Fenris smiles, reaching up to run his fingers through Hawke's hair and then moves, settling himself down on the bed, on his front, propping himself up on his elbows. Hawke can feel Fenris's breath against his arse. Fenris parts his cheeks, runs a finger down, gently. Just that makes Hawke shiver. 

He's been rimmed by a grand total of two people – one of whom, unsurprisingly was Zev, who did _everything_ to Hawke. He likes it – loves it, in fact. It's just not been a big part of his repertoire. Not that his repertoire is big-

“Ah,” Hawke gasps as Fenris's tongue flicks against his hole, and all thoughts dissolve from his mind. Around the edge – then in- “Oh, fuck,” Hawke says, and Fenris chuckles. Hawke can feel the vibration of it in the mattress. Around again, fucking him with his tongue, it's warm, and slick, and a little naughty, and it's _Fenris_. 

It's – good, it's _good_ , it's-

“Fuck,” Hawke moans, and grabs handfuls of the bedsheets as Fenris eats him out. 

“Up, on your knees,” Fenris says, and Hawke complies, he would do anything that voice asked of him. Then his tongue is inside him again, and Fenris's hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking him, and Hawke has to hide his face in the pillow before he embarrasses himself. He loses himself in the feeling, in the knowledge that this is _Fenris_ doing this to him, this thing he's hardly ever done, and he's doing it well – he's incredible, and Hawke is close, he's close-

His cry is muffled by the pillow as he comes, as Fenris strokes him through it, his tongue still inside him. 

“Fuck,” Hawke whimpers, breathing hard into the pillow, shivering as the pleasure cascades through him. He hears Fenris chuckle, feels a kiss on his arsecheek. 

“You liked that, hmm?” He asks, and Hawke can only nod in answer, looking over his shoulder so see Fenris stroking himself, and Hawke moans again. His brain is still deep in a blissful fog but he knows one thing for certain: Fenris stroking his cock is a marvellous sight. He wants to offer to help, but his mouth won't engage, so instead he watches as Fenris's breathing deepens, as his stroke quickens, as his head falls back and he moans increasingly loudly. And then with a cry he's coming over Hawke's back, hot in more ways than one. 

Breathing hard still, Fenris scratches his nails down Hawke's back, careful of his sunburn, and has a crooked, fucked-out smile on his face that's just so fucking sexy. 

“That,” Hawke manages. “Was amazing.”

“It was,” agrees Fenris. 

“I should tell you that I love you more often.”

Fenris smiles, his hand splayed on Hawke's back, and eyes focused on it. “You should tell me it always,” he says quietly.

“I will,” Hawke promises. He's not sure if anyone has ever said that to Fenris; it doesn't seem likely, and the thought makes Hawke furious, makes him terribly sad. Fenris should have been told that so many times, every day of his life. But now Hawke is here, and he'll have to make up for it. And if Fenris never says it back, it doesn't matter. He says it in other ways. Fenris meets his eyes now, and smiles again, and there it is, there's his _I love you_. 

“I think we need another shower,” he says, and Hawke laughs. They smile at each other, fucked out and blissful and so, so happy. 

“So we do. Together, this time?”

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I managed to update on Sunday! Hurrah!
> 
> Also hurrah to [the colour version](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/143804582160/sumomosketches-the-color-version-of-my-recent) of the extremely cute fanart I linked to last week. The colour makes it _even cuter_ , right!?


	39. Chapter 39

Hawke is smiling when he gets to work. 

That's something that's been happening a lot lately. Either he's been staying over at Fenris's, or Fenris has been staying at his. Sometimes they're each doing their own thing, reading or scrolling through tumblr, happy just being in each other's presence. Sometimes they watch movies together or play video games, or just talk for hours on end. Whatever they're doing, just being with Fenris makes Hawke happy, incredibly, deeply happy, and he can't remember the last time he felt like this.

But the best thing of all - except possibly, making Fenris stutter his name, arching his back as he comes - is waking up by his side. First thing in the morning when Fenris is still half asleep, relaxed and open, he cuddles up to Hawke, kisses him, rests his head on Hawke's chest like that's where he belongs, like that's where he wants to stay forever. And that's exactly what Hawke wants, too. So much.

Unfortunately they both have bills to pay and although they've both thrown a few sickies so they can spend the day together, they can't do it all the time. So here Hawke is at City Hall, already looking forward to seeing Fenris later. They've spent the last few nights at Hawke's flat, but they're meeting at Fenris's tonight, going to some hipster bar with great craft beer and a worrying number of people with Hawke's dress sense. 

For now, since it's Fenris's day off, he's busy doing chores while Hawke is going to extremely boring meetings all morning long, sending him occasional texts during breaks and receiving promises of how Fenris is going to make him it up to him later. _I'll keep you to that,_ Hawke sends, and receives _I hope so_ in return.

Hawke really, really can't wait for the day to be over.

Even lunch is a working lunch, with Bran taking far too long to explain the logistics of a proposed security system that looks like something from _Minority Report_ and that might, maybe, be put into place around 2025. It's all very pointless and very boring, and by the time Aveline comes into Hawke's office ready for the afternoon's meetings, he's almost looking forward to spending two plus hours in Meredith's presence. You can say many things about Meredith, and Hawke has, but you could never ever say that she's boring.

Aveline's brow is pinched when she steps into Hawke's office, and she glances at Saemus's empty desk.

"Is he in today?"

Hawke glances from the desk, then to her. "He's at lunch. And hello to you too."

She pauses and then sighs, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, Hawke. It's been a rough few days."

"Everything okay?" He frowns at Saemus's desk. "Wait - is this something to do with the Chantry? Should I call Saemus?"

"No, it's - well, perhaps. It's another gang, one with ties to the Chantry. They're Italian," she says, and Hawke startles, thinking of Fenris, of what he told Hawke - but no, it can't be. "They've never shown any interest in getting a foothold in London before, but their boss landed in Heathrow on Sunday. I keep hoping maybe he's just come to see the sights," she says, with a bitter smile.

"What's his name?" Hawke finds himself saying, feeling a little detached and unreal because no, seriously, it _can't_ be.

"Danarius," she says, and Hawke is grabbing his phone, dialling Fenris, thinking _no, no, no_ as his heart begins to race. "Hawke, what-"

There's no answer, and it could mean nothing, please let it mean nothing, but Hawke is on his feet, grabbing his bag, trying Fenris again as he leaves the office but once more it goes to voicemail.

"Please, Fenris," Hawke says, going to the stairs at a half-run, vaguely aware that Aveline is at his heels, listening. "Call me when you get this - Danarius is in London, just stay-" At home? Somewhere public where Danarius wouldn't dare hurt him, maybe? Is anywhere safe? "Just call me, alright, and - please. Be okay," he adds and throws the phone in his bag in frustration.

"Hawke, what is happening?" Aveline asks as they step outside. She grabs his arm as he's about to break into a run to the station. "Tell me. Now." The authority in her voice cuts through his panic and he gives her a desperate look.

"Fenris used to be part of Danarius's gang."

She stares at him in silence, then: _"What?!"_

"He-" Hawke swallows, runs a hand through his hair. "He was basically kidnapped, Aveline. He was just a kid and Danarius-" He's only telling Aveline this now because Fenris - oh fuck, Fenris is in all kinds of danger. He won't tell her any of the more private things, but she has to understand. "He hurt Fenris, pretty much tortured him, forced him to do it, alright? And Fenris has been running from him for years, and I have to go to him."

Her hand is still tight around his arm and he's afraid she's going to tell him to stay here, to let the professionals handle this, but he can't, he _can't_.

"I'll drive," she says, and Hawke has never been so happy to have her at his back.

She gets on the phone as they jog to her car, asking for updates on where Danarius is - apparently some of her officers are surveilling him. Hawke tries Fenris again but nothing - maybe he's just at the grocery store and left his phone at home, he's done that before. Hawke's trying hard not to think the worst, but if Danarius touches Fenris, if he even _looks_ at him, Hawke is going to kill him, he swears he is. Danarius has done enough to him, he doesn't get to do anything else, doesn't get to force his way back into Fenris's life.

"Danarius has just been in a meeting with someone from the Chantry," Aveline says, throwing her phone on the dash. "Now he's in the car, heading towards East London. Where does Fenris live?"

"Hackney," Hawke says, his hands gripping the edge of the seat painfully tight. It might mean nothing, it might, but Aveline swears and sets off, hitting the sirens and lights as she does. Some small part of Hawke's mind, the part that can still think anything like clearly, imagines Fenris's reaction if he's fine, if everything's okay - which it is, right, it has to be - and they pull up outside his flat like this, like a goddamn cop show. The amused smile, the way he'd lean against his balcony rail and smirk down at them - that's what's going to happen, Hawke tells himself. That's exactly what's going to happen, they're overreacting, that's all. It's just- Better safe than sorry.

Aveline weaves through traffic at speeds that shouldn't be possible in central London, the cars in front of them getting out of the way surprisingly quickly. She takes the long way around but when Hawke points it out, she says in a clipped, professional tone that taking the longer way on quieter roads will get them there in half the time. He grips the seat a little tighter, throwing out a prayer to anyone that's listening that he'll do anything, anything - give to charity or recycle more or _anything,_ just please let Fenris be alright.

"When we get there, if there's any sign of anything wrong, anything at all, stay out of the way," Aveline tells him, glancing at him and then back at the road. "If Danarius _is_ going after Fenris, the officers tailing him are my backup. You're a civilian, Hawke," she says, already countering the argument she knows he's going to make. "Let us do our job."

Hawke doesn't argue, but he doesn't agree, either. He'll do whatever it takes to protect Fenris and no-one, not Aveline nor anyone else, is going to stop him. He doesn't know what he _can_ do - a month's worth of martial arts classes are not going to do a goddamn thing against Danarius and whatever bodyguards he might have with him - but there is no way that he is going to let one of his best friends risk her life while he stands by and does nothing.

They pull up outside Fenris's flat and everything seems in order. When Aveline shuts off the wailing sirens, the quiet is almost eerie, but Hawke doesn't dwell on it. He's out of the car, running to Fenris's building, moving on instinct. Aveline snaps for him to wait for her, but he doesn't even pause. He fishes his keys out of his bag, Fenris's spare set nestled amidst his own, and slaps the fob against the lock to the main doors.

"Hawke," Aveline says, catching up to him as he pulls the door open, but the look he gives her quiets her. He sees her jaw tighten and then he's running up the stairs, taking two at a time, pushing his way out onto Fenris's shared balcony. Ines, the old woman who lives next to him is watering the plants and blinks at him in surprise before frowning suspiciously.

"Garry?" She asks, never quite having registered Hawke's name, and he stopped correcting her weeks ago.

"Is Fenris here?"

"I don't think so," she says, and frowns even more deeply. "Why? What's going on here?

"Please go inside, ma'am," Aveline says, flashing her badge at her, and Ines's lips thin.

"If anything happens to my plants, I'm holding you responsible," she says, slamming her door behind her.

Hawke is already at Fenris's flat, putting the key in the lock, before Aveline pushes him out of the way, something she does easily. She looks at the lock.

"No scratches - nothing to indicate a break in," she says, turns the key and pushes open the door. She calls Fenris's name and steps inside quietly, listening carefully. Somewhere behind the panic and the fear and the adrenaline, Hawke feels bad about letting someone into Fenris's home, his sanctuary, like this. But as important as that is, making sure Fenris is safe is much more important.

Hawke finds Fenris's phone on the desk-slash-dining-table in the living room, and touching the home button reveals Hawke's various missed calls and voicemails. There's a glass on the coffee table with an inch of water in it, a plate with a burnt corner crust of toast. Glancing at Fenris's shoes where they are lined up just inside the door, Hawke sees that his Chucks, the black-on-black ones, are missing.

"Nothing seems out of place," Hawke says, and an edge of embarrassment is pressing against his concern; he pushes it away. If he has overreacted it doesn't matter, all that matters is whether Fenris is alright.

Aveline takes her phone out again, and frowns when she doesn't get an answer.

"The officers tailing Danarius aren't picking up," she says, and goes back out onto the balcony as she tries another number. Hawke follows her, trying to pull his thoughts into order, into some kind of calm. Where might Fenris be? He rarely goes anywhere without his phone, so somewhere close by would make the most sense - the supermarket, a coffee shop, maybe. Going to the railing, he wraps his hands around it, looks out of the street, trying to think.

And that's when he sees Fenris rounding the corner. His relief at seeing him safe shatters when Fenris comes to a stop, eyes wide and focused on something further down the street. He snarls, dropping the shopping back in his hand, hand curling into fists.

Hawke is moving before he even realises, across the terrace, down the stairs. He can hear Aveline behind him, yelling his name, but Hawke doesn't even slow.

_Fenris Fenris Fenris_ he thinks, heart hammering. He doesn't even think about what he's going to do, what he _can_ do, all he knows is that he has to be by Fenris's side.

When Hawke slams through the front door and onto the street, Fenris is still standing in the same place, frozen, and Hawke can see fear and rage in every tense inch of his body. He runs to him, ignoring Aveline once again, and Fenris's eyes dart to Hawke, surprise and relief and so much more in that one glance before his glare returns to where it was.

Further down the pavement, arms folded behind him and a smirk - a fucking _smirk_ \- on his face is a man who an only be Danarius. Older, with grey hair and cruel eyes, he wears an expensive-looking suit, and his stance exudes confidence. There's no sign that he's afraid, or even wary; everything about him oozes arrogance. The two huge men behind him probably help with that confidence, both of them a foot taller even than Hawke and about twice as wide.

Danarius looks Hawke up and down with an amused smile, and looks back to Fenris. "Is this your new master?"

Fenris snarls in response, and Hawke's protectiveness flares.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He asks, stepping between Danarius and Fenris. "Fenris doesn't have a _master,_ he's not a slave."

Danarius only smiles, arrogant and sickly sweet. "I suppose that shows how little you know him, doesn't it? Fenris here isn't very good at thinking for himself - he needs someone to tell him what to do. And as I recall he quite liked it, too, especially when I told him to get on his hands and knees-"

Hawke doesn't remember moving, but suddenly his hand is closing around Danarius's lapel, his other raising to punch him in the face. Before he can connect, one of the bodyguards grabs his wrist, yanks him away and punches him in the stomach. Hawke gasps for air, trying to suck it In around pain and the shock of the blow; and then he's moving without thinking, dodging the next punch, getting one of his own in. The bodyguard hisses in pain, maybe not expecting Hawke to fight back, but he does, and hard. None of it is planned, all of it on impulse - hit, dodge, move. He doesn't even have time to be surprised at how well he's doing because suddenly there's agony in his arm, agony so intense he doesn't register it as pain. Looking down he sees blood, a lot of it already, soaking his sleeve and dripping from his fingers. Glancing at the bodyguard he sees scarlet on steel - _knife_ \- and moves, fast and ferocious, feeling his fist connect with the man's face, hearing a whimper and seeing him fall. Hawke watches, and it seems to take a very long time for him to hit the ground.

And then Hawke is on the ground, too, on his knees, pressing a hand to his bicep where his suit is slashed, his skin sliced. Blood is pumping between his fingers, hot and slick and red, and vaguely, behind the adrenaline, Hawke thinks _shit_.

He looks up and sees Fenris snarling, having tackled Danarius against a wall. Hawke has no idea when that happened, time inconsistent and vague. Fenris's forearm is pressed against Danarius's throat, cutting off his oxygen; Danarius scrabbles uselessly at his shoulders. Hawke guesses Fenris didn't see Hawke fall; his back is to him, facing away, his whole body tense and all of his focus on Danarius. He's speaking Italian, grief and anger in every incomprehensible word.

The other bodyguard is on the floor, too, and Hawke isn't sure when that happened, either, but Aveline is swearing and pulling off her sweater, putting it to Hawke's arm and telling him to put pressure on it. The world is tinged with red, now, a bit grey around the edges. Everything is swaying and blurry. He tries to say Fenris's name but nothing comes out - he wants to tell Fenris that Danarius isn't worth it, that Danarius has already hurt him enough, but he can't seem to form words.

Aveline calls for an ambulance with quick, concise words, then stands.

"Fenris," she says, and it sounds like she's speaking from a distance, or underwater. Fenris's words cut off, but he's still tense, still choking Danarius. "You need to stop."

"He-"

"I know," Aveline says, injecting a little more authority into her voice. "And he's going to jail for a very long time. But I can't let you do this. And Hawke-" Her breath hitches, Hawke thinks, but the world seems very far away. "I need you to help Hawke," she says, and Fenris glances over his shoulder. His eyes widen and he pauses, but just for a second, before pulling back, punching Danarius _hard_ and then running to Hawke without looking back. He grabs the sweater from where it appears to have fallen in Hawke's lap, wasn't he just holding it a minute ago?

"Hawke," Fenris says brokenly, pressing the sweater to Hawke's arm, and his eyes are shining. _Don't cry,_ Hawke thinks, he's seen Fenris look like this once before, that night, when Hawke was sitting in bed and Fenris was stood by the window in the darkness, and Hawke never wants to see him look like that again, not ever. "Stay with me," Fenris whispers, and Hawke thinks, _Always,_ but can't seem to say it.

And then, as the world goes black, Hawke's last thought is that he's glad he couldn't say it aloud, because it looks like he might not be able to keep that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've had a lot of real life stuff going on (and I've also been sucked into the Hawaii Five-0 fandom, oh boy). 
> 
> But! Look at these amazing fanarts that people have drawn! :o First there is [this incredible cover for the story](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/144577257095/fenbutt-oh-god-i-finished-it-i-cant-believe-it) \- look at all those details! Ahh! And then there is also [this adorable Fenris,](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/144753248875/demonjester123-i-decided-to-digitalize-a-sketch) whose smile I'm completely in love with. People are amazing, I feel so lucky to have artists put time and effort into these drawings and I am so so grateful <3


	40. Chapter 40

Waking comes slowly, in bits and pieces.

First there's the brightness of the lights that he can see even behind his eyelids, then the sound of murmurs. The certainty that this isn't his own bed - it's narrow, uncomfortable, too warm - is what makes him open his eyes, squinting against the lights.

There's a lot of blue and white, is his first thought, and it comes sluggish, vague, unanchored.

Blinking he takes a look around the room, slowly taking everything in. He's not alone. Not in a good way – not in a waking-up-next-to-Fenris-with-the-whole-morning-ahead-of-them-and-full-of-promise way. But Fenris is there, sitting by Hawke's bedside, his arms not so much folded as hugging himself. Hawke opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out - he's not quite sure how he didn't previously notice that his mouth feels like a desert, but it does.

"Hawke," Fenris says when he notices the movement, grabbing Hawke's hand, squeezing it, then reaching for a glass of water and helping Hawke sip at it through a straw. Out of the corner of his eye Hawke notices movement – a redhead, Aveline perhaps, leaving the room – but then he sees Fenris blink rapidly, his eyes shining in the lights like he's trying not to cry. _Fenris no,_ Hawke thinks, all attention on him. _Please don't cry._ It's still too hard to form sentences, so he smiles instead, and squeezes the hand that Fenris is still holding, which makes Fenris smile a little tiny smile

Aveline – it _was_ her – returns to the room. It's a hospital room, Hawke realises, though the reason why eludes him - and Anders is at her side, wearing a grey-and-blue checked shirt. There's a stethoscope around his neck, and for some reason that makes Hawke feel fond, so he smiles at Anders, too.

"Has he said anything?" Anders asks, and Fenris shakes his head.

"No. But he drank some water, squeezed my hand."

Anders nods, does some checks on Hawke, most of them uncomfortable in one way or another. Hawke is tired again, and wants nothing more than to sleep.

Even if he didn't, he doesn't have much choice in the matter, because sleep descends on him anyway.

===

Next time he wakes, he feels a little better. He knows where he is, and he knows why he's here.

When he opens his eyes he smiles to see that there are others in the room. Fenris is still sitting by his side, holding his hand, but Bethany and Isabela are there too, huddled together near the door. Fenris is glancing over his shoulder at them, listening to what they're saying, so he doesn't notice that Hawke is awake, not until Hawke squeezes his hand.

 _Then_ he notices, turning around with wide green eyes, and Hawke smiles at him

"Let's not end up here again," Hawke rasps, and Fenris gives a breathless, relieved chuckle, squeezing his hand.

"Agreed," he says softly, and touches Hawke's cheek, fingers lingering.

"Garrett," Bethany says in a small voice as she comes forward, going to the other side of the bed. She takes his hand - carefully, Hawke notices, there's an IV there. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then closes it again, shaking her head. Isabela comes over to stand behind her, putting a comforting hand to her back.

"You had us scared there, Hawke," Isabela says, her voice soft, concern in her eyes.

"Sorry about that," Hawke says, coughing, and Fenris gives him more water. Hawke realises he has no idea how long it's been since the last time, no idea how long it's been since it all happened. Hawke licks his dry lips. It didn't feel real at the time, and it still doesn't. "Did he - Danarius-"

Fenris's jaw tightens, and so does the hand around Hawke's. "Aveline has him in custody. Don't worry about him."

"I'm worried about you."

"Me?" Fenris's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "I don't- Hawke, you risked yourself for me, you got hurt because of me."

"You'd do the same for me."

Fenris looks at him, and nods, once, more in his eyes than Hawke could even begin to guess at. "Yes," he says, but it’s much more than a simple response to Hawke's statement.

Isabela kisses Bethany's temple and says she's going to go and find Anders.

"I should call Mum," Bethany says, her voice wavering. "God, Garrett, she - we both-" She shakes her head, and the movement makes a tear track down her cheek. "We can't lose you, we can't-"

"I'm not going anywhere," Hawke says, and squeezes her hand. She bites her lip, hard, and then goes out to make her call. That leaves him alone with Fenris, which isn't something Hawke would normally mind if it wasn't for the guilt on Fenris's face. "It wasn't your fault," Hawke blurts out, and blames whatever drugs are pumping through his veins for his inability to keep quiet. 

Fenris frowns. "You wouldn't have been hurt if it wasn't for me."

"I'm okay, though."

Fenris rakes a hand through his hair and swallows; Hawke's eyes follow the bob of his Adam's apple. "There was so much blood, Hawke," he says, sounding young, scared. "There was so much blood and I - I can't lose you. You mean everything to me and I-" He stops and licks his lips, and Hawke is smiling, Hawke is so happy, even though he's in the hospital and Fenris is clearly not okay, but he will be, they both will be. He opens his mouth to say that, but they're interrupted by Anders coming into the room, Isabela trailing behind him.

He's still wearing the same grey-and-blue shirt, which Hawke takes as a good sign. It means it’s not been too long since the last time he woke up, though considering how pale Anders looks, how bone-tired, it might have been a long shift.

"How are you feeling, Hawke?" Anders asks, checking Hawke's pupils, pulse.

Hawke considers. "Achy. Tired. Better than I did."

"What do you remember?"

"Danarius," Hawke says, and squeezes Fenris's hand. "His body guard - I remember fighting - I remember being pretty good," he says, and that earns him a small twitch of a smile from Fenris. "And - blood."

"Yes, blood," Anders says drily. "The bodyguard nicked an artery. You're very lucky, Hawke. Luckily having a superintendent with you made things happen quickly."

"Good old Aveline."

"Quite," Anders says stiffly, and sighs, his shoulders rounding as he rubs at his eyes. "Bloody hell, Hawke," he says, and Hawke's expecting more, but he doesn't get it. Anders just breathes for a minute, collecting himself. "You need to stop scaring us, alright? I know you throw yourself into these things without thinking but - you _need_ to think, alright? You're not indestructible, you're not a fighter, you're not- You're _fragile."_

Hawke opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. There doesn't seem much point in arguing the point when he actually agrees with Anders. "I had to," he says. "Anders, I had to."

"I know," Anders says, glancing at Fenris with none of his usual ire, and Hawke wonders what he knows. "But still. No more, alright?"

"Alright." Hawke tries to sit up and quickly abandons the idea when his head spins, when his everything hurts but especially his arm. He looks down at it for the first time, sees bandages around his bicep peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his hospital gown. "Am I - okay?"

"There'll be a lot of stiffness as you heal and you'll need physio. You'll probably never get the full range of movement back."

Fenris's hand tightens around his, and Hawke looks down at the bandage on his arm. It doesn't hurt at all, but there's a sort of intensity behind the wall of fuzziness and he suspects it might hurt like a bastard once the painkillers wear off. He decides not to let them.

"Winning Wimbledon's out, then."

"Afraid so," Anders says, and gives him the sort of smile he does every so often, soft and wistful, and pats his forearm. “You’ll be alright. Just get some rest. And try not to get hurt again.”

Hawke considers, and nods. “I’ll try.”

Anders gets paged and has to go, reluctantly, after putting a gentle hand to Hawke’s cheek. He’s quickly replaced by Bethany. Mum’s staying at a hospital just across the road, she says, and will be here in a minute. 

The expression on Mum’s face when she walks in breaks Hawke’s heart, and Fenris steps back so that she can come to him, hugging him tightly. That hurts, even through the painkillers, but Hawke doesn’t say anything, just hugs her back as well as he can. 

"Honestly, Garrett," she says when she pulls back, wiping at her eyes. Her voice shakes, badly, and Hawke hates that he is responsible. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“I’m sorry.” It seems like he’s going to be saying that a lot. 

“I don’t – I know what happened. I know you had to. I just – I can’t lose you. _We_ can’t lose you,” she says, and sweeps an arm across the room to include Bethany, Fenris, and Isabela.

“I’ll make sure he’s never in that situation again,” Fenris says quietly.

“We all will,” Isabela says, squeezing Bethany’s waist. “That’s our objective from now on – or what do they call it in that _Champion_ game of yours? A quest? Quest: Keep Hawke Safe.”

“Sounds good to me,” Fenris says with a small smile. Since Mum is still taking up the best Hawke real estate, he touches Hawke’s leg instead, as though he needs the contact. Hawke smiles at him; happy, so happy that he’s safe. 

Exhaustion is clutching at him again with foggy fingers, and Hawke is still smiling as he’s dragged him under. 

===

He's kicked out of the hospital the next day, and his mum insists he comes back to Windsor with her. He spends most of the next few days sleeping and sending unintelligible texts while high on painkillers.

On the third day he wakes and the day is bright; warm, golden sunshine nudges in around the edges of the curtains. He picks his phone up, and sees a stream of texts in response to whatever nonsense he sent the night before, most of which are along the lines of 'what?' or 'lol' or an ASCII dick – that one's Isabela, of course.

The drugs have mostly worn off while he's been sleeping so while that means he can feel the pain on the edges of his perception, it means he can think clearly, too.

He sends a text to Fenris: _Can you come to Windsor?_

He's probably working, but Hawke needs to see him. It’s been days, and even hours apart would be too much. He needs to hold him, and make sure he's okay.

 _ **Fenris**_ _(11:13)_  
_Working but can be there for 5-ish. How are you feeling?_

Hawke replies that he's fine. And he is, mostly, under all the pain and fuzziness and the - _stuff,_ the emotional stuff that he doesn’t want to think about yet.

He has a shower, keeping his injured arm carefully out of the way, and takes some more pills before heading downstairs. His mum is sitting in the living room, reading, with Sam at her feet. Sam lifts his head when he sees Hawke and barks loudly, but Mum grabs his collar before he can launch himself at Hawke.

"Sit," she tells Sam, and Hawke comes over to sit on the sofa and stroke his head.

"You're such a good dog," he tells him, and Sam gives him a happy doggy smile. All that matters to him is that Hawke's alright. If only that was Hawke's only worry. He needs to speak to Aveline, to find out more about the case against Danarius, to see what happens next, but right now he can take a leaf from Sam's book and enjoy the moment for what it is. He lifts his head to look at his mum, whose eyes are shining as she looks at him.

She shakes her head and then pulls him into a tight hug. She’s shaking, Hawke thinks guiltily. Or maybe it's him that's shaking. "Don't scare me like that, Garrett. I can't lose you. After your father, and Carver, I just- I _can't,_ Garrett. I don't think I'd survive-"

"Don't say that," he says, and hugs her tighter. "It's okay. I'm okay. It's all okay."

She looks up at him and touches his cheek. There's so much pain in her eyes, weighing her down, but she blinks, her eyes closed for a long moment, and then pulls him down so that she can kiss his cheek.

"Stay," she says, patting his knee. "I'm going to clean your arm."

He does as he's told and waits there while she goes to get supplies. Sam rests his head on Hawke’s thigh, as though he knows he needs comfort. After patting Sam’s head and gathering his courage, Hawke looks down at his arm. 

The scar is heavy with dried blood, obscuring the stitches. It starts just above his elbow, curving up and around arm to cut through the lowest part of his tattoo. Hawke frowns down at that, feeling a tumbling mix of fear and worry and disbelief. He touches it, gently. He doesn't regret it - could never regret it because it means that Fenris is okay. But still, it's - it makes him feel mortal. It's not a feeling he likes much.

His mum returns with a large bowl of water and fluffy cotton wool on a tray. She sits next to him on the sofa, touching his cheek before getting to work. As she does she talks about the comings and goings in her life - Gamlen, her friends, her art. It distracts Hawke, a little, from the spikes of pain as she works. And it's nice. He doesn't see her enough, they don’t get the chance to just chat like this enough. Making himself a promise to do better, he answers the questions she has, but she doesn’t ask many; she knows he’s still tired, hurting, woozy from the meds. 

Once she’s done, most of the dried blood is cleaned up, and it looks a lot better. After she’s gone to dispose of everything and returned, she takes her place by his side again and Hawke remembers the text he sent to Fenris. 

"I asked Fenris over," Hawke says, realising belatedly that he probably should have asked her first. After all, he doesn't live here any more. "I hope that's okay."

She smiles at him. "He'll be staying for dinner, I hope. I'd like to get to know your boyfriend better." She says _your boyfriend_ on purpose, and it’s almost like she's almost happier about it than he is. Almost.

"I think so, yeah."

"Bethany and Isabela are coming too." She says. "He was so serious at the hospital, Fenris. So worried about you. I think he blamed himself."

Hawke licks his lips. "It wasn't his fault-"

"I know. Aveline explained. Not in detail, but she said that the man who hurt you was trying to hurt Fenris, maybe kill him."

Hawke's heart lurches at her words, and he nods. "So you know I had to."

"I know," she says, patting his arm. “And now you have to get better, alright?”

She puts on the TV and they watch an Agatha Christie movie, which Hawke falls asleep in the middle of. Miss Marple has barely been on screen ten minutes, and the next thing he knows, the credits are rolling and he’s blinking blearily at them. 

His mum makes him a cup of tea and a sandwich, and then sends him back up to bed for a rest before the others get here. 

When he gets back to his room, he has a text from Anders asking after him and telling him about some mail, and one from Isabela saying she and Bethany are coming for dinner. 

_**Hawke** _ _(15:32)_  
_I know, Mum just told me. You and Bethany, me and Fenris, and her. A real family dinner_

_**Isabela** _ _(15:32)_  
_just think if me and beth get married u and me will be brother and sister hahahhahahaha xxx_

A few seconds later:

_**Isabela** _ _(15:33)_  
_And if u marry fenris he'll be my brother too. I'll have such hot brothers. 2 hot 4 me xxxxx :*_

"Oh my god," Hawke says, and puts a hand over his eyes. 

_**Hawke** _ _(15:33)_  
_Not sure that's how it works_

_**Isabela** _ _(15:33)_  
_if ur not my brothers then it's okay to think of you in bed together glistening and writhing x_

_**Hawke** _ _(15:33)_  
_Please don't_

_**Isabela** _ _(15:33)_  
_Too late :D_

_"Writhing,"_ Hawke says to his phone, and laughs.

He puts his phone down on the bedside table, and falls asleep, still smiling. 

===

When he wakes up, he feels pleasantly blurry. He hears voices downstairs; his bedroom is above the family room, so he guesses that’s where they’ve gathered. He can’t hear any words, but he recognises the timbre. The deep, rumbling voice is Fenris, and Hawke smiles to know that he’s here. Bethany’s voice is soft and barely audible, but Hawke _knows_ it’s her, would know her anywhere. The laugh – loud and confident – is Isabela’s, and she sounds full of delight. Hawke can easily imagine her with her arm around Bethany’s waist. Then there is the slower, even pitch of his mother’s voice, and Hawke lies there for a moment, listening to a conversation he can’t really hear, thinking _my family. That’s my family._

Eventually he manages to get out of bed, wincing at the pain in his arm and head, at the stiffness of his whole body. 

Most of the week he’s been wearing pyjamas or sweatpants, depending on how well he felt, but he wants something a little more _proper_ today. He opens his wardrobe, where he keeps a couple of changes of clothing for when he’s staying at here, as well as some of his older clothes that he didn’t want to take to London with him, but couldn’t quite bear to part with. 

He’s glad of that now, as he takes out his oldest and most comfortable pair of jeans. They’re a little tighter on him than he remembers, though he is pretty sure it’s because he’s put on a lot more muscle in the last eight or so years. He pairs it with a plaid shirt from his bag – no undershirt since lifting his arms hurts too much. He leaves it unbuttoned to his sternum and remembers Isabela’s words about cleavage, back in the days when he was still trying to woo Fenris, and thinks she’ll be pleased. 

Doing the math to be sure he can take another painkiller, he swallows one down with water and then goes to brush his teeth. After all, Fenris is here. Not that he’s exactly planning a make-out session, but maybe a bit of kissing, and minty-fresh breath is always best for that. 

When he goes downstairs and sees his family – and yes, Isabela and Fenris are included in that – his heart feels like it’s expanding, like it’s too big for his chest. He loves them so much, so damn much. This right here is pretty much perfect. He could do without the ache in his arm, or the way the room is spinning mildly, but the rest is wonderful. 

Fenris sees him in the door and stands immediately, coming over to him. He puts a hand on Hawke’s good arm and looks at him intently for a moment; whatever he sees seems to put him at ease a little, and he leads Hawke over to the sofa he’d been sat on. 

“I was just saying, Garrett,” his mum says after they’ve sat down. “When Fenris was here yesterday-“

“Fenris was here yesterday?” Hawke looks at Fenris, who has the decency to blush a little. 

“And the day before. I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, and when Hawke tries to argue, Fenris shakes his head. “I needed to be sure you were alright. I just – needed to see you. To touch you.”

 _God_. 

Hawke stares at him, and that heart-expansion thing from earlier goes into overdrive, like it’s a hot air balloon and he’s about to take off. 

“I,” Hawke starts, and finds he doesn’t know what else to say. Fenris just gives him a soft smile and Hawke kisses him, he has to, sweet and gentle before he sits back, smiling. 

Luckily, the others are more conversational than he is, so Hawke sits there next to Fenris and listens, intertwining their fingers and enjoying the warmth of Fenris against him and thinking how lucky he is, how very lucky. 

When Mum gets up to go make dinner, Hawke goes to stand too, saying he’ll help, but she shakes her head. 

“Don’t be silly; Isabela and Bethany have already offered to be my assistants. You stay here,” his mother says, and waves a hand at Fenris. “And you keep him company.”

“But-“

“Be quiet, Hawke,” Isabela says, standing and rolling her eyes. “You know I’m not exactly into traditional gender roles, but I am interested in having my bear-like practically-brother-in-law not end up in hospital again.”

Bethany’s cheeks are instantly bright red, and Hawke can’t help but tease. “You mentioned that before, Isabela. So when _is_ the wedding?”

“When’s _yours?”_ Bethany snaps, but Hawke just grins easily back at her and she scowls at him before storming off to the kitchen. 

“Honestly, Hawke,” Isabela says and rolls her eyes again, but there’s a look in her eye that says she has a plan. Hawke wonders what it is, but then she’s patting his knee and following Bethany. 

Mum watches them go with a fond look on her face, and then follows them after kissing Hawke’s forehead. 

Leaving him alone with Fenris. 

Which has always been one of his favourite situations, and it still is, even with the slight tension in the atmosphere. There’s so much to be said, to talk about, but pain and painkillers aren’t good companions for that discussion. 

They’ll talk later, Hawke is confident about that. But for now, Fenris’s smile, his warmth, is enough to put him at ease. _He’s_ enough, he’s everything; he’s all Hawke needs. He says so, quietly, and Fenris’s hand tightens around his. 

He looks at Hawke, and there’s something serious in his expression. He doesn’t say anything at first, just kisses Hawke, very gently. And then, his sombre green gaze holding Hawke’s, he says, “Anything you need, anything at all, I am here.”

“You’re all I need, Fenris. Just you.”

Fenris’s eyes close then, as though those simple words are too much, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. When he opens his eyes then they’re luminous, brimming over with emotion. The rest of his face is calm but those eyes tell Hawke everything he needs to know. “I told you this before,” Fenris says softly, stroking a thumb over Hawke’s cheek. “But I need to say it now. I’m yours, Hawke. And I – I want to be yours for always.”

“Me too, Fenris,” Hawke says and leans in to kiss him. It’s gentle, more gentle than he would’ve liked, but the instant he tries to move and pull Fenris closer, deepen the kiss, his arm screams at him. He gasps and pulls back, clenching and unclenching his fist in an attempt to ease the pain. Fenris frowns, and then leans in to kiss the bandage, very carefully. 

“Rest, Hawke,” he says. "Take a little time to relax before dinner is ready."

“Will you stay with me?”

Fenris’s smile then is like being bathed in summer sunlight. “Always, Hawke. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for your kudos and comments! Summer always saps my strength and energy, this year more than before, but I swear that nice people like yourselves keeps me going <3
> 
> AND! Can you believe that there is more amazing art for this fic? *cries a little* There are [these wonderful sketches](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/146068402780/shivanessa-fanart-scetches-for-finding-home-by) which are just so so lovely, and then [this picture from Fenris's past](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/146271913270/shivanessa-fanart-cover-for-the-modern-au), which is simultaneously gorgeous and heartbreaking. I just love them both so much! <3


	41. Chapter 41

Hawke's been home a week by the time he has to have his stitches out.

His original appointment had been mangled by someone somewhere and he had a phone call just as he was about the leave the house, telling him that they were terribly sorry but his appointment was actually scheduled for the next day, would that still be alright for him?

Which was annoying, and doubly so because it meant Fenris couldn't go with him anymore. Merrill and Tamlen were going away for a long weekend, leaving only Fenris and one of the weekend staff to cover the Friday. Sweetheart that she is, Merrill had even offered to cancel her holiday so that she could cover Fenris's shift, but Hawke had insisted it would be alright. Varric offered to go with him instead, and Fenris promised to come around straight after work. He'll still be looked after, and Deep Roads will still be covered.

In truth, Hawke is a little tiny bit glad that Fenris won't be there. Not that he doesn't want to be with him - he does, always - but Fenris gets such a guilty look whenever anyone mentions Hawke's arm. No matter how much Hawke or anyone else tells him it wasn't his fault.

Well; that just means he has to give him extra cuddles tonight to be sure he knows Hawke doesn't blame him in the slightest.

His phone buzzes where it rests on the table, and Hawke grabs it.

**_Varric_ ** _(10:25)_  
_Outside, ready when you are_

Standing, Hawke puts his phone in his pocket and pulls on a shirt, being careful of his stitches, before heading outside.

A shiny black Mercedes is sitting at the kerb, and Hawke gets in. As much as he's not into cars, the thing's a beauty, and the engine literally purrs. It's got leather seats, wood trims, and Varric calls it Bianca; Hawke decided not to ask.

Right now, he gives Hawke a measuring look. "How're you doing?"

Hawke shrugs, but then actually considers. The skin of his arm feels uncomfortably tight, he's a little tired - the painkillers, even though he's taking less of them, tend to put him to sleep but it's not a very refreshing rest. But he's also alive, he's seeing Fenris later, and he's back to work next week, with a promise that he can leave early if he needs to, so all in all Hawke's pretty happy.

"Getting there," is what he says, and after another moment of careful consideration, Varric nods and heads off.

The GP’s office isn't far and Hawke could probably have walked it, but he and everyone else knows he's kind of a wimp, especially when it comes to pain.

In the end, it's not that bad. He's taken good care of the stitches and though it hurts a little when the nurse carefully pulls them out, he's brave, to the extent that he feels like he deserves a lollipop after the nurse peers at his newly stitchless arm and pronounces him all done.

Hawke looks down at it, at the pink line slicing across his arm, into his tattoo, and skirts around the edge of thinking about what happened. Not just him being hurt, but about Danarius, about everything he did to Fenris and what he might have been planning to do. Everything about it terrifies him, so he swallows and looks away, from the arm and the thoughts both.

"Come on, Hawke," says Varric, who's been leaning against the wall in the nurse's office. "I'll buy you lunch."

Hawke, always a fan of a free lunch, agrees. And maybe, just a little bit, he doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts right now.

They go to a very posh part of Greenwich that Hawke hasn't been to before, and Varric leads him to a Parisian style cafe with prices that make Hawke choke on his artisanal water.

"Jesus, Varric-"

"I'm paying," Varric says, then grins. "Actually, I'm writing this off as a business expense, on account that you're basically the star of my new novel."

Hawke frowns. "The one about London gangsters?"

"No, the sappy love story."

Hawke laughs and relaxes a little. He has a slice of the crusty bread, deliciously crisp and fresh, with salty butter that's quite frankly remarkable.

"You're really going ahead with that? The awkward love story, I mean," Hawke asks, gazing around the little cafe. It's quite charming, dim despite the bright day outside. There are dark wooden floors and walls, Tiffany light fixtures, and sepia photographs of both London and Paris on the walls. The staff are the kind of impeccably cool people that wouldn't normally look twice at Hawke, but Varric is as smooth as ever and speaks perfect French at them. He makes their server, a pale blonde dressed entirely in black, laugh and tilt her head flirtatiously at him.

"So tell me more about this book," Hawke says once she's taken their order. "Am I going to need to sign a waiver or something?"

"It's not going to be _that_ close, Hawke. Not a biography. But those who know you might, ah, spot some similarities. I'm almost tempted to make it a bit of a crossover - make the main character your cameo from _Hard in Hightown_. Get a few crossover sales, you know."

The idea appeals to Hawke, and he says so. "He was a good guy. He deserves love."

"So do you, Hawke," Varric says, with a quiet sort of sincerity, and Hawke isn't sure he's going to stop blushing ever again.

"Well," he says, and fusses with his glass, not sure what else to say.

"You deserve to be happy, too. I mean, you always did, but after all those romantic heroics? You pretty much _have_ to get your happy ever after. It would be a pretty shitty story otherwise."

"Not to jinx it or anything, but I think I will. I mean - I'm happy. I have Fenris and I'm at least mostly sure he's serious about me."

Varric laughs as the server comes with their food, steak for Varric, comfort-food-soup for Hawke. He thanks her in his warm, charming way - Hawke's pretty sure he sees her blush - then turns his attention back to Hawke. "I've seen you together, Hawke. The way he looks at you - yeah, he's serious about you."

The thought warms Hawke. As a writer and as a person, Varric is observant, and Hawke knows enough to trust his judgement. It quiets the negative part of him that leans towards thinking that he doesn't deserve Fenris, doesn't deserve to be this happy.

"Enough about my love life," Hawke says, feeling that he’s done enough blushing for one day. "What about you? Seeing Bianca anytime soon?"

Varric smiles, and concentrates very hard on cutting his steak. "We're both going to be in New York next month. I need to go over there anyway to meet with my editor and some bigwigs at the publishing house so we figured we might as well spend some quality time together."

"Sounds good."

"I get to put a whole bunch of it on expenses so it's even better," Varric grins. "Breakfast in bed every day, dinner on the balcony overlooking Central Park - yeah, I think it's going to be good."

Hawke is the kind of guy that likes a lot of time with his partners, so he's 100% sure the long distance thing would never work for him - he wasn't even able to make it work with Anders, and they live in the same building. But it seems to work for Varric, most of the time at least, so Hawke is happy for him.

They spend the rest of lunch talking easily, catching up like they've not done in a while. 

By the time Varric drops Hawke off at his flat he's feeling at ease and happy, the scar on his arm barely in his thoughts at all.

He spends the rest of the afternoon lying on the sofa scrolling through tumblr and Pinterest, the best kind of time-wasting, and before he knows it the doorbell rings. 

_Fenris,_ he thinks, his heart fluttering. He stands up, checks his reflection – his hair’s a mess so he smooths it with a hand as best as he can on his way to the door. 

As he opens the front door, he can only stare for a moment. Fenris looks _so_ good. He’s wearing a t-shirt with a v-neck that shows off his collarbones. Hawke's eyes linger over the strong lines of his forearms and biceps - after all, Fenris isn't the only one with a thing for arms. 

“Ah, come in,” Hawke says, remembering his manners, and lets Fenris into the flat. He peers at Hawke worriedly as he pulls off his beanie, shoving it in his bag and then setting his bag on the floor, kicking it against the wall.

"How did it go?"

"Fine," Hawke says, lifting his arm to show it stitch-free and healing nicely. Fenris catches it, just underneath the bicep, and frowns at it. Gently tracing just underneath it with the fingers of his other hand, he bites his lip.

"I'm sorry, Hawke," he says, apologising for the - it must be the twentieth time, at least - and Hawke leans in to kiss him gently, quieting him in the nicest way possible.

"Nothing about this is your fault," he says, as Fenris steps closer, wrapping his arms around Hawke's waist, resting his head on Hawke's shoulder. Hawke can feel the warmth of his breath on his neck. "You're okay, I'm okay, and that's the only thing that matters. That, and the fact that Danarius will be going to jail for a very long time."

Fenris licks his lips, his eyes darting away. "Did Aveline speak to you about that?"

"She did. She said that you were willing to testify. That's very brave of you, love."

"To some of it. To - the attempted kidnapping. To the attack. To some of the things he did when I - worked for him. I won't - I can't say everything. But-"

"It's alright," Hawke says, and kisses his temple. "That will be enough. And you know, as much as I like to think that I'm not a violent man, or a vengeful man, in his particular case I think it's only fair that he rots in jail and has a very terrible time there."

"It would be thoroughly deserved," Fenris agrees, and holds him a little tighter before leading Hawke over to the sofa. They sit, and he looks at Hawke searchingly. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright. I mean, I've been better. But you're here. That helps. And Varric bought me an excellent lunch. Gave me a bit of a telling off about getting myself hurt, too."

"Good. I hope you'll listen to him."

Hawke shrugs. Not glibly; he knows that Fenris is serious, and that Varric was too. And he knows that stepping in like that - for Fenris, for Saemus - was dangerous, could have been fatal. He gets a little breathless, anxious, when he thinks about it, and he knows that the fact he doesn't like to think about it means something. But at the same time he's entirely aware that if one if his friends was in danger like that again he would hesitate to step in, not for one second. He says so to Fenris, who sighs, but he's smiling a little too.

"I can't say that I really expected anything else," he says, lifting a hand to Hawke's cheek, stroking his thumb along the edge of Hawke's beard. "Heroics come too easily to you."

"Heroics?" Hawke's eyebrows raise, and he can feel his cheeks burning. Laughing nervously he shakes his head, but before he can deny it, Fenris darts in to kiss him, slightly slick, slightly heated.

"Heroics," Fenris says, green eyes intense, voice soft, deep, rough, and it makes Hawke shiver. "Don't sell yourself short, Hawke."

Licking his lips, Hawke gives another nervous laugh. "Next thing I know you're going to be asking me to wear a Champion costume in the bedroom."

Fenris smiles at that and shakes his head. "You are a ridiculous man," he says, and then smiles a wicked little smile that makes Hawke's breath catch in his throat. "Although I wouldn't dismiss the idea out of hand - perhaps when you're feeling better."

"Fenris!" Hawke squawks, and Fenris kisses him again, still on the verge of simmering. It sets a fire in Hawke's belly and he wants more, he always wants more of this. When Fenris pulls back he rests his forehead against Hawke's, a hand to the back of his neck.

"Thank you, Hawke," Fenris says quietly. "You saved me, in more ways than one. If it wasn’t for you, I don't know what would have happened."

"I'm glad I was there," he says, and that's the truest thing he can say, because Fenris could have saved himself, Hawke is sure of it, but he's also sure that Fenris shouldn't have had to face Danarius alone. "And I'm so glad you're safe."

This time it's Hawke who starts the kiss, sweet and soft, his fingers running through Fenris's hair. They take it slowly, easy, and warmth trickles through Hawke. He feels so lucky to have Fenris here with him, so lucky that he's breathless with it, or maybe that's the kissing. He still doesn't feel like he deserves someone as amazing, as strong and smart and wonderful as Fenris, but he has him, somehow, and he'll treasure him always, makes sure he feels utterly cherished because he is, god, he is.

They shift on the sofa so that Hawke's in the corner and can put his arm on the back, supported and safe. Fenris watches his arm as he does, and strokes down the curve of Hawke's bicep.

"Battle scars," he says, more to himself that anything else, and it's such a _writer_ thing to say that Hawke beams at him.

"One I'll wear proudly," he says, and then Fenris is kissing him again, hungrily, nails scraping down his torso. He nips at Hawke's lower lip, thrusts his tongue into his mouth, and his hand rests on Hawke's waist, digging in painfully. He's restraining himself but he so clearly wants more, he so clearly _wants_ that Hawke moans, he can't help himself. He puts his good arm around Fenris's waist and pulls him closer. They break apart just for a moment so that Fenris can straddle Hawke's hips without jostling his arm.

"Is this alright?" Fenris asks, and Hawke nods eagerly.

"Very."

"If you need to stop or slow down-"

"I'll tell you," Hawke says, and smiles, pretty sure they've said this before, with positions reversed. But then they're kissing again and all Hawke's concentration is on Fenris, on his lips, his hands, that body hard and hot against his. It feels so good, so good and so _right_ , Hawke is sure that this right here is exactly where he belongs. The slight discomfort in his arm is a distant memory, lost behind the pleasure of Fenris's mouth on his, their bodies so close. Fenris is hard, Hawke is too, and their cocks are pressed together. Fenris's hips are giving little thrusts, like he's trying not to but he wants to, and so does Hawke. Telling Fenris so would require stopping the kiss, and that is not an option. So Hawke moves his hips too, matching Fenris's pace and smiling when it makes him moan.

"I could," Fenris starts but Hawke kisses him, needing more, hand going to his head, fingers dragging through his hair. He wants to touch, everywhere, but he doesn't want to stop kissing. It seems Fenris has the same idea because he tugs at Hawke's belt, then the button of his jeans. "Can I?" He gasps and Hawke nods eagerly.

"Please," he says, _begs,_ and Fenris doesn't hesitate. He pulls Hawke's cock out of his pants and wraps a strong warm hand around it. It feels good, so good, and without meaning to Hawke thrusts up into the circle of his hand.

"Impatient, aren't you?" Fenris says with a wolfish smile, pulling back. Hawke tries to give a disappointed noise but it just comes out as a groan instead. Besides, as much as he loves kissing Fenris, he can't be disappointed when Fenris is stroking his cock with a deliciously perfect rhythm. As he watches, Fenris grabs the little tube of hand cream from the coffee table and squeezes a little into his hand.

 _Fuck_ , Hawke thinks when Fenris’s hand returns to his cock. The slickness of the hand cream is just- _Fuck_. He tries to help with his good hand, tugging the fly of Fenris's jeans open, running a finger down the line of dark hair that leads into his boxers, but Fenris gently knocks his hand away.

"Just sit back and relax," Fenris tells him, finishing the job Hawke started and pulling out his cock. The sight of it is exquisite, even more so when Fenris shifts, lining up their cocks. Bracing himself on the back of the sofa with one hand to keep them in the right position, the other wraps around both their cocks and starts stroking.

"Fuck," Hawke says, aloud this time, and Fenris grins breathlessly at him.

"Good?" Fenris asks, and yes, god yes, just about the best thing ever.

"So fucking good," Hawke croaks. Fenris adjusts his grip, makes it a little tighter and Hawke groans, his head tipping back to rest on the back of the sofa. He doesn't think he can take much more of this, pleasure coiled tight in his belly, but he thinks Fenris is getting close too. And why not - Fenris gives an excellent hand job, Hawke thinks, and giggles. Fenris raises an eyebrow at him, and Hawke beams up at him. "So good," he says again, and Fenris smiles, biting his lip, and isn't _that_ one of the sexiest things Hawke has ever seen?

The sights, the sounds of Fenris's breathing and his soft strangled moans - that together with the hand on his cock and Hawke is lost. He lasts barely a minute more and just about remembers to pull his shirt up out of the way before he's coming, a starburst of pleasure overwhelming him with heat and _oh fuck yes_. Fenris comes seconds later over Hawke's stomach, and just _yes_.

With a groan Fenris collapses on top of him and Hawke puts his arm around him, holding him close, burying his face in his hair and smelling strawberries. Hawke smiles as happiness bubbles through him, not just from the orgasm - although yes, very much from the orgasm - but just because of _Fenris_ , because he's here and he's safe, and both of those are things Fenris should always be.

Fenris lifts his head and he's smiling too. He whispers Hawke's name and then they're kissing, slow and satisfied.

Eventually they make a move. They're both smeared with come and it's kind of gross, and sharing a shower is always a fantastic option. After, Fenris borrows a pair of shorts and a vest top from Hawke. They're far too big, but they suit him anyway. Hawke likes seeing Fenris in his clothes. It makes him feel… Not possessive, exactly, or at least not in a negative way. It makes him feel like Fenris is comfortable, like he feels like he belongs. And he does. He really does.

"I'm thinking we order a take away and watch a movie," Hawke suggests, and Fenris nods.

"Sounds good to me."

They decide on pizza and Star Wars - Hawke can never resist a classic.

Hawke falls asleep during the movie, and wakes when Fenris gently shakes his shoulder. 

“I think we should go to bed.”

“Mmm,” Hawke agrees, rubbing at his eyes and letting Fenris pull him gently to his feet and lead him to the bedroom. 

Fenris has to work tomorrow since Merrill and Tamlen are still on holiday, but he's on a later shift so he’s staying over. He didn’t need to bring anything with him – his toothbrush was already in the bathroom, and he has a few changes of clothes in one of Hawke’s drawers. The thought makes Hawke a little gooey. 

“What?” Fenris asks, pulling on his pyjama pants. They’re actually an old pair of Hawke’s sweat pants that he’s co-opted, something else Hawke loves seeing him in. 

“Nothing, really. I’m just thinking about how lucky I am to be with you.” Which gets Fenris blushing, and isn’t that adorable?

After they’re both in pyjamas and Hawke’s put some cream on his arm, they settle into bed and turn the lights out. 

The room is dark, the only light from the streetlights outside creeping around the edge of the curtains. Fenris cuddles up to him, putting his head on Hawke's shoulder, hand on his chest. It’s just about perfect. Whatever else has happened these past few weeks doesn’t seem to matter much anymore, because they have this – they have each other. Hawke smiles in the dark, kisses Fenris’s forehead. They lie there a while, listening to each other breathe, and then Fenris speaks. 

“Hawke?”

“Yeah?”

“My name isn't Fenris. Legally, I mean.”

Hawke blinks, and looks down at the smudge of white hair in the darkness. “Oh?”

“My first name - the one on my passport. It's Leto.”

“Leto?”

He feels Fenris shiver against him; it doesn't feel like a good kind of shiver. “I've not used it for a long time. I just never got around to changing it. Don't call me by it. Please. But I wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you,” Hawke says. It's important. It's Fenris letting him in, letting him know one of his secrets. It’s Fenris _trusting_ him, and there’s nothing more special. He kisses his forehead and feels him relax against him, cuddling a little closer. “If you ever do decide to change it, I'll help you. If you want.”

Silence descends, and Hawke is on the edge of sleep when Fenris speaks again.

“It was Danarius that called me Fenris. But it was also Fenris that got away from him. Leto was the stupid kid that went to him in the first place. So I kept the name he gave me. Made it my own. It makes me feel - strong. Free.” He shrugs. “I know it doesn't make sense.”

“I think I understand,” Hawke says. The very mention of Danarius makes Hawke want to punch something, but he knows how much it means that Fenris is opening up like this, in the dark. The dark makes things easier to say. “I don't like my middle name. Malcolm, my dad’s name. I mean - I do, but I don't at the same time. It makes me nervous. It's my dad's name and I'm proud to have something of his, but - it makes me afraid that I'm not living up to his legacy. I wonder if he'd be proud of me.”

“How could he not? You're a hero, Hawke. You saved me, and Saemus, Ashaad. But every day in your job, you’re helping people. You're a good person.”

Hawke's throat is tight, and he kisses the top of Fenris's head. “Thank you,” he whispers. Because when Fenris says it, he thinks that it might just be true. He manages a smile that quickly becomes real, and he holds Fenris a little tighter.

“You are very welcome,” Fenris says, and their lips meet, something sweet and something true, before he settles in Hawke’s arms again. “Good night, Hawke.”

“It always is, with you here.”

Fenris chuckles. “Charmer. But seriously. Sleep time.”

“Good night, Fenris.” Hawke meant what he said; it _is_ a good night. When he finally falls asleep he has good dreams, but even they can’t compete with reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly at the end now, gosh! Thanks to each and every one of you for all your support, and thank you for sticking with this beast of a fic. 
> 
> Please have a look at [this adorable fanart!](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/147558318625/protect-him-nonspecific-finding-home-fanart) I love it so much <3 <3 <3 Hawke and Fenris are so happy omg <3
> 
> There are also a [few other things in the Finding Home tag that you might enjoy :)](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/tagged/finding%20home)


	42. Chapter 42

It's Hawke's first day back at work.

While the Disney marathons have been nice, and the lie-ins even nicer, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to returning to the office. Hawke loves his job; loves making a difference, however small, in people's lives. He loves working with Saemus, even enjoys the meetings sometimes, at least the ones without Meredith, and he's been assured he won't be seeing her for at least a week - they're going easy on him.

It feels a little odd to put a suit on again after so long in sweats and t-shirts. He goes for his favourite black one, and a shirt with a subtle white and grey check. After a moment's consideration, he chooses a tie in his favourite shade of red. When he's done he feels more like himself than he has in weeks. He checks his reflection - he's going to see Fenris at Deep Roads so he's allowed to be a little shallow, alright - and is pleased by what he sees. No bruises, the scar above his eyebrow from protecting Ashaad looks rakish, and the worst of his wounds from the fight with Danarius are hidden under his clothes.

Of course, Fenris still knows they're there. He's stayed over at Hawke's flat more often than not since it happened, saying quite bluntly that he wants to look after him. While Hawke does have _some_ pride, it's overweighed by how much it delights him that Fenris wants to look after him.

Fenris didn't stop over last night though - Hawke's mum had stayed for the weekend, and along with Bethany they'd spent Sunday playing tourist and having a boozy afternoon tea at Fortnum and Mason. It'd been nice - his mum has finally stopped looking at him like he's going to break, though she had kissed him on the cheek and held him tight when leaving, making him promise not to get into any more fights.

Grabbing his bag and his keys, Hawke steps out of his flat and almost walks straight into Anders, who's heading out to work.

"Good morning, Hawke," Anders says with a brighter smile than Hawke's seen on him in a while.

"Yes, apparently it is - you and Karl definitely had a good evening from what I heard."

_"Hawke,"_ Anders hisses, and Hawke laughs to himself as he locks up.

They walk to the station together and Hawke _tries_ not to tease Anders more, honestly he does - just not very hard.

"So, Karl found out about that _thing_ you can do with your tongue, did he?"

"He knew before you did," Anders snaps, but it only makes Hawke laugh again.

There's a train pulling up as they get to the station and they run up the stairs to get on. It's busy but not packed, and they manage to get a seat together at the front so that they can watch the tiny, distant buildings get taller and taller as they journey into central London.

"Seriously, though," Hawke says, looking closely at Anders. He's still smiling and he looks _relaxed_ , something that's incredibly rare for him. It's good to see. "Things are going well?"

"Better than expected," Anders admits, ducking his head but it doesn't hide the warmth of his smile. "Considering that we both work such long hours. But it just - works. And I - I like him a lot, Hawke."

"I'm glad for you," Hawke says, meaning it, and squeezes Anders's knee.

"So what about you and Fenris?" Anders asks. It’s an obvious deflection technique, but Hawke lets him get away with it - he'll never pass up a chance to talk about Fenris.

"We're good. He's a little - overprotective, at the minute, but I don't mind him playing nursemaid."

"I bet you don't," Anders says, voice dripping with sarcasm, and Hawke smacks his leg.

"Please stop whatever dirty thoughts you've got going on right now."

"I think of Fenris as little as possible, let me assure you," Anders says, then puts his hands up in surrender when Hawke frowns at him. "I don't like him but I know he makes you happy, and I know he's good for you, and that's enough for me."

"Good," Hawke says, and moves the conversation onto something more neutral. He'll always wish Anders and Fenris got on better, but if a ceasefire is all he's getting, he'll take it.

Anders's stop is before Hawke's, and he startles Hawke by giving him a tight hug before he gets off.

"Wow, you really are loved up," Hawke laughs, and Anders hits him on his good shoulder.

"Have a good day, and if it's too much for you, leave early - I _mean_ it, Hawke."

"I know you do, Doctor. And I will, I promise."

"You better," Anders says, poking him, then runs for the door as it starts to close.

As the train sets off, Hawke is smiling - sharing a train with a friend is always a good way to start the day.

When he arrives at Tower Gateway and heads for ground level, Hawke finds his smile getting wider.

It's nice to be getting back into his routine. The delight will wear off very quickly, he's sure, but for now it's a reminder that he's healing, that everything's okay.

As he heads across the street to Deep Roads, his smile gets wider still. This place has been so good to him, and maybe it's weird to have such warm affection for a building, but he does. It gives him great coffee, he's made good friends there, and most of all, it's given him Fenris, and that’s something he will always be thankful for.

When he steps inside he sees only one person in the queue, an older, elegant lady with grey hair and striking pale brown eyes, so light they look golden. Her burgundy coat has a black feather trim and it makes her look a little like a forties film star, or maybe a witch. Possibly both. She gives him a glance and a knowing smile, though what exactly she knows Hawke isn't sure, isn't sure he wants to. Merrill hands over her coffee and gives a sort of awkward little bow, then drops her change and apologises profusely. The woman still seems amused as she sweeps past Hawke out of the shop.

"Oh, I always get so flustered around Professor Flemeth," Merrill sighs. "She's such a brilliant woman!"

"I don't think I've heard of her."

"She teaches ancient history at SOAS," Merrill says. "I've been to some of her lectures, I've learned a lot from her," she says, still looking admiringly in the direction Flemeth went, but then her eyes widen. "Hawke!" She squeaks, as if she's only just realised who she's talking to, and comes around the counter to hug him, and Hawke is reminded how surprisingly strong Merrill is - he's sure he just heard his ribs creak. "It's so so good to see you! How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," he says, laughing when she doesn't let go. "How are you?"

The question makes her blush, which makes Hawke raise an eyebrow at her.

"Well," she says, stepping back and making a dainty little skip-step back behind the counter. "I'm good, you know."

"I don't, you should tell me."

"Oh, stop it, you just want gossip!"

"And you didn't get as much gossip about Fenris and me as you could?"

She considers, and then and nods. "I suppose you're right. It's nothing big, nothing in particular," she says. "It's just. Things are going well between me and Tamlen, and I'm happy. Happier than I've been since I can't remember when."

"I'm glad for you," Hawke says and squeezes her hand.

"And I'm glad for you, too. I suppose you'll be wanting to see Fenris?"

"If that's okay."

"More than," she says, patting his hand and then going into the back room.

When Fenris steps out, Hawke's lips curve into a big, dopey grin of their own accord. It might only be a few days since they saw each other, and they might have been texting so much during that time that Hawke's mum had to ask him with a sigh to put his phone away, but still - he's a sight for sore eyes.

"Hello, Hawke," Fenris says, coming up to the counter. Hawke sees Merrill peering at them through the door to the back office, but he'll let her peek - after all, she gave him her gossip. "It's good to see you up and about."

"Good to be here," Hawke says, and gives Fenris his most dazzling smile. "And definitely good to see you again."

"Yes, it's been so very long since we saw each other," Fenris says dryly, reaching for a takeout cup to make Hawke's drink. Waving it at him, he says, "The usual?"

"Please. It’s been too long. And it's _always_ been too long since I last saw you."

Fenris shakes his head at him, and if Hawke didn't know for a fact he had it just as bad, he might be insulted. Another customer comes in and Merrill bursts out of the back room to serve them so that Hawke and Fenris get a few more moments together. Fenris hands over Hawke's drink, then clears his throat.

"Since, ah, we miss each other so much - are you free tonight?"

"I am. I'll probably be tired after work but if you want to come round we could get a take away or something."

"I'll cook for you," Fenris says. "Tagine, maybe?"

"Sounds amazing."

More customers surge into Deep Roads demanding Monday morning caffeine, so there isn't time to linger, but Fenris steals a brief little kiss that sends Hawke off to work with a smile.

When Hawke gets to City Hall, he opens his office door to find the lights out and the blinds drawn-

"Welcome back!" Is chorused as the lights are switched on, and he sees all of his colleagues - even Orsino, though not Meredith, thank god - crowding his little office.

The mayor comes forward with a smile and a cake for him, giving a bit of a speech about Hawke and his service to the community; Bran ends with drily asking Hawke to try to avoid hospitalisation for the foreseeable future, does he know how much that costs the city? Saemus comes up to him and says, all sincerity, that Hawke is a hero.

"Oh, I don't think-"

"No," Saemus says, his eyes entirely serious. "You are. You saved my life and Ashaad's; now you've saved your boyfriend, and you ended up in hospital both times. That makes you a hero."

"I agree with Saemus," Aveline says, leaning against Hawke’s desk with folded arms. "Though I agree with Bran, too - stop ending up in hospital."

"Aye aye, superintendent," Hawke says with a cheeky grin that earns him a thoroughly deserved slap on the shoulder.

They all enjoy cake for breakfast, as well as coffee that's inferior to Deep Road's, but it'll do. Eventually they clear out of Hawke's office to do some actual work, though Aveline stays, still leaning against his desk and watching as he turns his computer on.

"Honestly, Hawke - are you alright?"

"I'm fine. A bit achy and stiff, but fine. Anders has already made me promise to leave early if I need to, and Fenris is coming round to look after me tonight."

She frowns. "Do you still need looking after?"

"Well, no. But still. It's a nice sentiment."

She shakes her head and smiles at him. "The two of you are sickening, you know that?"

"As long as you know that you and Donnic are just as sickening. In fact, you're adorable."

Aveline sniffs and pulls herself up to her full height, looking down at him - it's especially impressive since Hawke is sitting.

"We are officers of the law, we're not - not _adorable_."

"Keep telling yourself that, Aveline." Hawke's computer has finally turned on so he logs in, not particularly keen on seeing how many emails have piled up in his absence. "How's the case going? Against Danarius."

"Slowly. Italy wants him back so we're being careful - we want to keep him here, there's too much chance of someone in the Italian judicial system being in his pocket. This bastard hurt you, he hurt Fenris - I'm not letting him get away with that." Her voice is calm but confident, and when Aveline puts her mind to something, it happens. Hawke trusts her to keep him behind bars, permanently.

"Good," Hawke says. "That's all I ask - that he can't hurt Fenris - can't hurt _anyone_ \- again."

She gives him a quick update about the recent developments he needs to know, and warns him about a three hour meeting tomorrow. When Hawke groans, she reminds him that at least Meredith won't be there and yes, that _is_ a silver lining. He supposes.

"I suppose I'd better let you get to it," she says, pushing herself upright and eating the last bite of her cake. "I imagine you've got a lot to catch up on."

"Over a thousand emails," he says glumly, and she pats his shoulder.

"Chin up, Hawke," she says, and leaves him to face his challenge alone.

As he turns to his computer, though, Hawke finds himself smiling again. He's seen Anders and Merrill and Aveline, he's had cake for breakfast, and best of all he got to kiss Fenris.

That will always count as a good morning.


	43. Chapter 43

Varric insisted on throwing a yay-Hawke's-better party on the Friday after Hawke returns to work.

"We'll keep it low-key," he'd said on the phone to Hawke. "Well - low-key for us, anyway."

Which says more about Hawke and his friends than is flattering, really.

It's been a month since Hawke got out of hospital and he's feeling mostly better. Going back to work helped - as did the blow job Fenris gave him this morning that literally blew Hawke's mind, to the extent where Fenris pretended to get worried about him, wondering aloud if he should phone an ambulance or maybe go upstairs and get Anders. Hawke had quickly talked him out of it but Fenris flashed a smile at him; he's a mischievous bugger when he wants to be and Hawke adores him for it.

"You're sure we don't need to get dressed up?" Fenris asks, looking at himself in the mirror in Hawke's bedroom. Hawke manages to draw his eyes away from how very, very good Fenris looks in the tight grey jeans and fitted black top, and clears his throat.

"No, no. You look - you look great, Fenris."

"It's just, I don't have anything smarter at your flat," Fenris sighs. Since he slept here so much while Hawke was recovering, he's now got a drawer of his own here, which gives Hawke the warmest of fuzzies. "I could always go home and get a shirt."

"It's _fine,_ Fenris," Hawke says with a smile, kissing the back of his neck; Fenris twists elegantly, catlike, to plant a kiss of his own on Hawke's lips. "It's only Varric's."

"I know, but- it's a party for you. Because you saved my life. I feel like that deserves a dress shirt. Maybe even a tie."

"Much as you'd look lovely dressed up like that, you look great as you are. Delightful, even," Hawke adds, waggling his eyebrows and pinching Fenris's arse, making him laugh.

"Perhaps I can make it up to you later," Fenris suggests with a suggestive little smile, and Hawke's mouth is suddenly dry. He coughs, and nods.

"You - uh. If you want, I'd like - you."

"You like me?" Fenris is still smiling and teasing; still has his arms loosely around Hawke's waist.

"I like you very, very much."

"I like you too, Hawke," Fenris says, and there's nothing teasing in his voice now; he's dead serious and the kiss he gives Hawke is, too, serious and simmering. Hawke's at half-mast when Fenris pulls away, breathing hard with kiss-slick lips.

 _Later,_ Hawke tells himself, forcing himself to look away and book an Uber to Varric's.

When they get there Hawke's surprised to see it decorated, ridiculously so. There's confetti on every table, paper chains stretching across the ceiling. There's also cloth bunting that literally says "Yay you're better Hawke!", a two-tier cake and a terrible photo of Hawke, drunk and goofy one night in the Hanged Man, kissing Fenris's cheek. Just having the photo on display is bad enough, but Varric never does things by halves. He's put in an ostentatious gold frame with a museum-style sign next to it proclaiming Hawke to be a hero.

"Seriously?" Hawke asks, amused, and Varric grins up at him.

"You don't like it? I knew I should've ordered the oil painting."

"Oh god," Hawke says as Fenris chuckles beside him. "Please never do that."

Varric has a _look_ in his eye now, so Hawke is thoroughly expecting one for his next birthday.

"Does he like the picture?" Isabela asks, coming over with a beer bottle in her hands. She peers at the picture and then grins at Hawke, pinching his cheek - Hawke thinks she might have been drinking for a while already, but you never know with Isabela. "Look at how cute you are! Still not the cutest Hawke though, sorry," she says as Bethany comes up with more beers, handing one to Hawke and Fenris.

"How are you, big brother?" Bethany asks, pushing into tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. When she drops down again, Isabela slides an arm around her waist and kisses her temple. She gives Bethany a look of straight-up adoration, and Hawke beams at them. "How's work been?"

"Oh, it's okay. I've been working shorter days since it's my first week back, which I think helped."

"Glad to hear it. Don't push yourself, Garrett," she says with a scolding tone, and Hawke gives her a Scout's salute.

"I won't, I promise! If nothing else, Fenris won't let me."

"As if I could stop you," Fenris says, but Hawke shakes his head.

"No, but if I worked late, you'd have _such_ a look on your face when I got home. I don't want to face the wrath of Fenris."

"Hmph," Fenris says, but he looks pleased.

They head over to the sofas - Varric has even better sofas that Hawke does, not just an L shape but a U, so it's perfect for socialising in a smaller party like this one. Tamlen and Merrill are at one end, curled up against each other and looking thoroughly loved up; Aveline is next - Donnic had to work and couldn't come, but considering how deep in conversation she is with Anders, she's keeping busy. She doesn't look happy, exactly - she looks worried if anything, but Anders has always had that effect on her. Hawke and Fenris sit next to Anders, Bethany and Isabela next to them, and Varric goes to the other end of the sofa but he doesn't sit. Instead he stands before them all, and the grin on his face instantly makes Hawke horribly suspicious.

"Now, you all know we're here because we're celebrating Hawke's good health," he starts, and there's a wave of people lifting their glasses and _here, here_ s. "But we're also here to celebrate Hawke in all his geeky, goofy glory-"

"Hey!" Hawke says, though honestly that's a pretty accurate description of him.

"-so without further ado - Isabela?"

It's only then that Hawke notices the remote controls in Isabela's hands, and she switches on Varric's huge TV with one of them.

"Wait, what-"

"Bull helped me with the technical side of things," Isabela says, turning on the Blu-Ray player. "But I couldn't have done this without Bethy and her willingness - eagerness, even - to embarrass her brother. So - here's to you, Hawke."

"No," Hawke says, not sure what's about to happen but absolutely sure he doesn't want it to start. He reaches over Fenris to try to grab the remotes from Isabela, but Fenris captures his wrists and shakes his head.

"Isabela worked very hard on this, Hawke."

Hawke gasps. "Et tu, Brute?"

 _"Such_ a drama queen," Isabela says, shaking her head, and presses play.

"Oh god," Hawke says as it starts. It's worse than he thought: baby pictures. The first is of him squalling and wrinkly; another of him inexplicably dressed as a daisy.

"Aw, Hawke, look at you," coos Merrill, and Hawke doesn't think he could blush any deeper.

He manages, though, as the pictures follow him into nursery and onward - school plays, bad hairstyles and ill-fitting clothes take up the next few years, and there's even a grainy video from his third year school nativity play, where he overacted his way through a starring role as a wise man. God knows where the video came from - their family never had enough money for something like that – Bethany must have looked up old school friends. Hawke's almost impressed at the effort that's gone into finding it, until everyone _awwws_ at little Hawke stumbling his way through the pronunciation of _frankincense_.

When it gets to high school it only gets worse - the clothes are still ill-fitting but that's mostly because Hawke seemed to have a growth spurt every month or so. He had braces, too, and the terrible haircuts are a constant.

"They were cool at the time," Hawke insists, but nobody's buying it, probably because that haircut has _never_ been cool.

It's a little better when it gets to university and there are a few modelling shots, although he could have done without seeing the one where Hawke's wearing a faux fur scarf covering his modesty and not much else – he’s pretty sure that Isabela chose that one, from the grin on her face and the fact that Bethany is covering her eyes, whispering _honestly!_. That earns him some wolf whistles but Fenris leans in and whispers _that's a good look on you, Hawke,_ so maybe it's not all bad.

That’s the last good picture of him - the rest he's either drunk or just generally making a fool of himself.

But then it changes.

First there's one of him with a soft, gentle smile, something almost like wonder in his eyes - then it pans over to show that he's looking at Fenris. That brings out more _awwws_ , as does the photo Zev took of them, and one of them holding hands at the picnic earlier in the year.

And then, because Isabela put this together, there are a few shots of the Champion and his elf with the naughty bits pixelated, which makes Aveline snap at Isabela about being inappropriate.

"Oh, you're no fun," she says, skipping through until they get to the last image, a group shot of all of them from the picnic, with a cheesy banner underneath saying _we love you Hawke!!!!_

"Can it stop, now?" Hawke asks, pretty sure he's never blushed this red or this long in his entire life. “Please?”

"Oh but we do love you, Hawke!" Merrill says, and Varric nods.

"It's true. We're your merry band of misfits and you're stuck with us." Shockingly, no one objects to his description, possibly because it’s so apt.

"Well," Hawke says, and stands. "I feel like I should give some sort of speech after that, but all I can really think to say is that I'm already planning my revenge, Bethany, so I advise you to watch your back."

She only giggles at that; kind of takes away from the impact.

"Three cheers for Hawke!" Isabela cries, so they do, hip-hip-hooraying him and then clinking their bottles together.

"Thank you," Hawke says, smiling despite himself, and sits down before he can make any more of a fool of himself.

There are no more horrible surprises for the rest of the party. There's plenty of booze but Hawke doesn't drink too much; he's taken a couple of painkillers for his arm, which still aches occasionally. Noticing, Fenris matches him, choosing soft drinks more often than not. It's still a lot of fun, but Hawke becomes increasingly aware of the way Fenris is looking at him - even when Fenris is behind him, Hawke can feel his hungry gaze like a heat lamp on the back of his neck.

So when Fenris leans over to whisper,

"When can I get you all to myself, Hawke?"

Well - Hawke isn't a saint.

He makes his excuses, saying he's feeling a little worn out after the long week back at work. It's the wrong tack to take - it makes Anders fuss over him and check his vitals - but it works. Ten minutes later Hawke has received tight hugs from everyone and cheek-kisses from most, and he and Fenris are out the door to wait for their Uber home.

"That was fun," Fenris says, smirking up at him. "I'll have to ask Isabela for a copy of that dvd."

"Please don't," Hawke moans.

"Perhaps not," Fenris allows. "After all, I have the real thing right here."

"You'll have the real thing naked in bed, soon, if you want him."

"I do, Hawke," Fenris breathes. "I really do."

He slides his hands up to Hawke's cheek and leans in so that Hawke can feel the warmth of his breath; it smells of hops and barley from the beer, and Hawke thinks he'll taste that way too.

Before he can find out, the Uber pulls up and Hawke tries not to sigh.

They mostly behave themselves in the car, though Fenris sends plenty more of those _looks_ his way, and his hand slowly, slowly creeps up Hawke's thigh, up the inseam. It's a little naughty but it's barely anything, really - but it still gets Hawke going, his cock achingly hard by the time they get back to his flat.

There's nothing graceful about Hawke's rush inside, his hand wrapped tightly around Fenris's as he struggles to get the key in the lock.

"Distracting," Hawke tells Fenris, though he's not doing anything. Fenris just laughs and takes the keys from him, opening the front door and then Hawke's flat door with no trouble at all.

Fenris turns to him with a speculative look in his eyes, then pushes Hawke against the wall, capturing his lips.

Hawke moans wantonly but can't find it in himself to be embarrassed by it. Instead he presses his hips against Fenris's, finding him just as hard.

"What do you want?" Hawke asks, more than a little breathless.

"I want-" Fenris pauses, looks away biting his lip, like he's afraid to ask for what he wants, but he shouldn't be, shouldn't ever be worried about that.

"Anything, Fenris, just tell me."

"It's just - I want you-" Fenris licks his lips, looking away, and his hands tighten where they rest on Hawke's forearms. "I want to fuck you, Hawke. If that's too much-"

"It's perfect," Hawke says quickly, and it is, it’s the perfect end to tonight.

Fenris's eyes widen and he looks into Hawke's face as though he's looking for any doubt, any misgivings, but he won't find them. His smile when he sees only hunger and want and love in Hawke's face is beautiful, and results in a desperate scramble to the bedroom.

Fenris removes Hawke’s shirt first, kissing the scar on his arm then the one above his eyebrow, the one across his nose.

"It was done in jest but that framed picture was right - you are a hero," Fenris says, and Hawke shakes his head.

"I just did what was right."

"And what do you think a hero is, Hawke?"

After that, they find little use for words. Fenris gets naked and then kisses his way down Hawke's body. When he gets to the jeans, he decides they're in the way too, and he strips Hawke completely in swift, economical movements, like he just needs Hawke naked, _now_.

And then he takes Hawke's cock in his mouth, and yes, just so much _yes_.

Hawke whines and moans, makes all manner of embarrassing noises; he can't help himself. He has to take fistfuls of bedsheets in his hands to help control himself, using an almighty amount of willpower to keep his hips still. And then Fenris is pulling off with a grin, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand and god, what a sight that is.

"Finger me," Hawke says, reaching over to the nightstand and pulling lube and a condom put, dropping them on the bed. Fenris only stares for a moment, but then he shifts his gaze to look up at Hawke.

"You're sure?"

"I'm very sure," Hawke says, completely certain. "I want your cock inside me, Fenris."

Fenris closes his eyes then, as though he needs a moment; when he opens them again he reaches for the lube then presses Hawke's legs apart, stroking his hands gently down Hawke's legs.

"Thank you," he says, and Hawke raises an eyebrow.

"I've not done anything yet."

"You will shortly," Fenris says. "And considering last time - this is different, and I won't run, I promise. But I wanted to let you know how much this means to me."

"Not nearly as much as you mean to me, Fenris," Hawke says, cupping his cheek, and Fenris leans into it with a smile, turning his face so that he can kiss Hawke's palm. "I want you to fuck me," Hawke says, on the verge of begging. "Please, Fenris."

Taking in a breath that shakes, Fenris pops open the tube of lube and squeezes some onto his fingers.

Hawke loves this bit - the anticipation, knowing what those slick-shiny fingers mean, what he's going to feel shortly.

"Please, do it," Hawke says when Fenris pauses with his fingers at Hawke's hole, waiting for permission. When he gets it he pushes one slick finger inside, all the way in one smooth glide and Hawke groans. The groans continue when Fenris starts fucking him with that single finger, and he's begging for more in seconds. The stretch of the second finger hurts a little, but it quickly eases as Hawke’s body gets used to it. He wants more, _more_ , and Fenris gives it to him. That hurts, too, but Hawke needs this, he needs it, needs to know what it's like to have Fenris inside him, so he breathes deep and takes it as the hurt melts away.

Hawke opens his eyes without realising that he'd squeezed then shut, and he sees one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. Fenris sitting between his legs, staring down at where his fingers are sinking into Hawke's body and looking like he's been given a precious gift. But he's got it all wrong, it's Hawke who's been given the gift, it's Hawke who's the lucky one.

"Fuck me," Hawke whispers, and Fenris's gaze snaps up to him; he looks dazed.

"Yes," Fenris says, and withdraws his fingers so that he can pull on the condom. "God, Hawke, I - this- This means so much to me. That you're letting me do this."

"It means just as much to me," Hawke promises, and leans up so that he can kiss Fenris long and deep, pouring every positive emotion he's ever felt for Fenris into it. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone," he says. "Never doubt that."

"I won't," Fenris says, slathering his cock with lube then getting into position between Hawke's legs. He lets out a long, shaky breath, then asks, "You're sure?"

"Yes," Hawke says, then gasps as Fenris pushes in. It's been a while and the stretch burns, but over that, over everything, is the knowledge that this is Fenris inside him, and it makes him feel warm and happy and just plain _joyful_.

Fenris is taking his time with it, making sure Hawke is alright. His thrusts start shallow, and slowly he gets deeper as Hawke opens up for him. Pleasure is dark and intense in Hawke's belly and he feels like it's a snake ready to strike - he's close to coming already, and only the overlay of pain is slowing it. As soon as his body adapts and Fenris is fucking him in earnest he won't last long.

"So good," Hawke gasps. "Fenris, you - you feel so good inside me."

"Yes," Fenris says. "You - Hawke, you- You feel amazing. You - that you trust me to do this-" His voice breaks and Hawke reaches down to squeeze his hand, and he looks into his eyes.

"I trust you with everything, Fenris."

Fenris gives a noise that's almost a sob but he's smiling, and he starts to get a little faster, a little deeper, until his hips snap forward and he's all the way inside him.

They stare at each other, breathing hard, and Hawke says,

"I love you."

It's not the first time he's said it but it's true, it's truer than anything, and it's never been more important for him to say it.

"Hawke," Fenris whispers, his eyes wide, and then he leans down to kiss him, sweet and slick.

As he kisses him he moves, fucking Hawke, sliding inside him right to the hilt and making him shiver each time. This feels so good, it feels so _right_ , like they're meant to be joined like this.

When Fenris starts to stroke Hawke's cock, he groans.

"F-Fenris - I won't last long if you keep doing that."

"Good - I want you to come, Hawke, I need to see you come, to _feel_ it. And I need to come inside you Hawke, I- I-"

His words fail him and there's only the sound of their gasps filling the room, the slick sounds of their sex, and Hawke is so close, pleasure thrumming in every cell, every thrust making him feel like he's going to explode, he needs to come, he needs to come, he needs-

And then with a yell he does, plummeting and soaring all at once, gasping Fenris's name and arching up into him as his orgasm throbs through him, before collapsing onto the bed, gasping through aftershocks that leave him shaking.

"Hawke," Fenris rasps, and Hawke dimly imagines he looks beautiful as he fucks into him, but no force on this earth could get him to open his eyes. Instead he concentrates on the warmth of the afterglow, on the feeling of Fenris inside him, the thrusts getting more and more erratic as he gets closer and closer-

And then he stills with a gasp, whispering Hawke's name, hands tightening on Hawke's hips.

Somehow Hawke manages to open his eyes, and he's so grateful he does, because what he sees is something he'll remember forever. Fenris is always beautiful, yes, but right now, with his head thrown back, his mouth open but still curved into a smile - this is something else, this is infinitely precious, and Hawke will never, ever forget this.

"Fenris," he whispers, running a hand up his arm, and Fenris blinks down at him with an utterly gorgeous, completely blissed out smile.

"Hawke," he says, and leans over him, kissing him. It's slow and lazy and satisfied, and a different kind of pleasure spills through Hawke now. He's happy, fireworks and champagne _happy_ , because after everything they've been through they're here and whole, they're together and they're stronger than they ever have been.

"We belong together," Hawke murmurs between kisses.

"Yes," Fenris agrees, sighing against his lips. He pauses, like he's trying to force himself to say something, something they both know he feels but the words are hard to form, hard to get out. But Hawke doesn't need to hear the words so he kisses Fenris again to ease off the pressure.

"You mean the world and more to me, Hawke,” Fenris says, quietly. “I - I need you to know that."

"I do know, Fenris. And I feel the same way. Never doubt it."

Fenris smiles down at him, bright as the sun, and then hugs him tightly to his chest.

They lie there a while, holding each other, kissing occasionally, until Fenris rises and goes to get a towel to clean them both up.

Clean and sated, with Fenris by his side, Hawke quickly slides into sleep.

===

Fear assaults Hawke before he even opens his eyes. Before he can even understand why, his mind thinking _Fenris, Fenris, don't go-_

But when he does open his eyes Fenris is right there, sitting up and checking his phone, his hair sleep-messy, his eyes tired and his everything gorgeous.

He stayed.

He _stayed_.

It's nothing like last time, nothing at all. Fenris looks at ease, still naked other than the duvet draped loosely over his hips. He's _here_ , because he wants to be - with Hawke, because he wants to be.

And Hawke? He never wants to be anywhere else.

"Good morning," Hawke says softly, not wanting to break the moment. Fenris twists to smile down at him, trailing his fingers over Hawke's chest.

"Good morning, Hawke. Coffee?" Fenris asks, and Hawke laughs, leaning in to kiss him.

"Later," he says, joy surging through him as he pulls Fenris back down into bed with a laugh.

Coffee can wait - they've got more important things to do. They've got the rest of their lives for coffee.

They've got the rest of their lives for _everything_.


	44. Epilogue

Hawke watches as Fenris brings the last box in from the car, and feels a little like he's going to cry.

And he might, there's time yet.

Because this is their house. A two-bedroom built in the twenties with a large lounge and a tiny kitchen, it's an ex-rental with white walls and outdated decor, but they can fix that easily enough. It's a bit of a fixer upper, it's further out of the city than he would have liked, but there's a garden that any dog would love and a park across the street; it's in a quiet neighbourhood with a few little shops and a small grocery store, and it's within an easy walk of the Overground. Most importantly both of them see a lot of potential in it and can't wait to make it _theirs_.

Hawke watches in the doorway as their new neighbour accosts Fenris, who looks startled and slightly uncomfortable by the attention, but he relaxes quickly, giving her a smile and even laughing politely at a joke.

It took a long time for Fenris to agree to move in with him. Once Anders moved in with Karl, Fenris moved into the flat above Hawke, and it was almost like they lived together, but not quite. Fenris needed his own space and Hawke understood that, respected that. The situation lasted for two years and Hawke would have been very happy for it to continue. It meant spending almost every night sharing a bed with Fenris, eating together almost every meal; leaning against him on the sofa as they watch reruns of Battlestar Gallactica or their favourite movies, as they played the sequel to Champion of Kirkwall together, cheering at cameos from the first game and making hand hearts at each other over the love scenes. It might not have been perfect but it was damn close.

But now.

Hawke's not sure what exactly changed Fenris's mind, what made him agree to buy this sweet little house on the edge of London with him.

It might be a money thing. Fenris sold his second novel a while back - Hawke had already read it of course, and it's amazing, though there's a chance he might be biased. It sold for a good chunk of change, and it meant that he could quit working part-time at Deep Roads, though he still goes in nearly every day to write.

And then there's Danarius, who is serving several life sentences - the prosecuting attorney found a few others willing to testify against him in return for protection, and Hawke will never forget the relief on Fenris's face when the sentence was handed down.

There was some nasty business earlier in the year with Fenris's sister popping up out of the woodwork - she was trying to get money from him, and Fenris was happy to help - right until she started trying to blackmail him, saying she'd found out about his relationship with Danarius and was going to leak it. The betrayal in Fenris's eyes as he told her to do what she liked, as long as she never contacted him again, still makes Hawke's heart hurt, makes him want to hold Fenris tight and safe.

Maybe one of those is why Fenris came to the decision to finally move in with Hawke, maybe it was something else, maybe it was nothing in particular but a mix of all kinds of things.

Whatever it was, Hawke is desperately glad of it.

Fenris raises an eyebrow as he steps into their home, easing past Hawke who is still in the doorway, very much in the way.

"Are you going to get all emotional on me?" Fenris asks, and his grin has mischief running through it as he stacks the box on top of one of the many, many others.

"Always, Fenris. You know me."

"Try to keep it under control - I've no idea where the tissues are."

Hawke laughs and captures Fenris's hand, gently reeling him in to kiss him, sweet and gentle.

 _Our home,_ he thinks. _Ours._

"Hawke," Fenris says softly, cupping his cheek, those green, green eyes looking into his seriously. "I - I want you to know- Since we're beginning our lives together - you mean everything to me. You always have."

"We're not at the beginning, here. Writing a new chapter, maybe. But not a new beginning. We know the plot now."

Fenris's lips quirk into a smile. "And is there a happy ending?"

"Of course!" As if there was ever any doubt. "And, ah, hopefully there’ll be some sex scenes as hot as the ones you wrote between the Warrior King and his knight errant," Hawke says with his most dashing grin.

"Hmm," Fenris says, looking thoughtful. "There's certainly no harm in trying. Perhaps now would be a good time to start?"

Hawke laughs and grabs Fenris's hand, and together they run upstairs. The bed is already set up, thank goodness, though it isn't made. Luckily Aveline is a master packer, and her labelling is second-to-none, if slightly rude: _Duvet; fitted sheets (blue, black, navy); duvet covers (why do you still have ones with dragons on Hawke, you’re a grown man)_. They grab a fitted sheet and throw it on the bed, before Fenris throws Hawke on the bed and climbs on top.

They have a _thoroughly_ enjoyable time breaking in the bed, though there's a worrying few minutes afterwards trying to find where the towels have hidden themselves, and figure out how the hot water works.

An hour later they're clean and sated, wearing pyjamas since they were the only clothes they could find. Not that Hawke minds - Fenris's pyjamas are made of leggings and a t-shirt that's too big, so it keeps slipping off his shoulder. Every time it does, Hawke can't help but press a kiss to it.

"Thank god we're finished moving in," he says with a sigh as they plop on the sofa, beer in hand, as they wait on Domino's to arrive. "If I never carry another box it'll be too soon."

"A shame that we're helping Isabela and Bethany move into your old flat tomorrow, then," Fenris points out, making Hawke groan and hide his face against Fenris's shoulder.

"Don't remind me. Do you know how many boxes Isabela has? Do you? How she got all that stuff in one room I'll never know. And Bethany! Why she feels she needs to bring her entire collection of Sweet Valley High books from Windsor I've no idea."

Fenris snorts. "Says the man who brought all of his Ewoks books with him," he says, and cuddles a little closer to Hawke.

"They're _classics_ , Fenris!" Hawke gasps, putting a hand over his wounded heart, and Fenris laughs.

They smile at each other and Hawke doesn't think he'll ever stop.

Because this right here - this is home. Not the house - they could move a hundred times but he'll still be home, as long as Fenris is by his side.

When he says as much aloud Fenris laughs at him and calls him sappy, but he kisses him too, which Hawke thinks just proves his point.

Because he's home now; they both are.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're done! I was _determined_ to get this finished before the end of the year, and it's five minutes to midnight but it still counts!
> 
> Thank you so, _so_ much to everyone who's stuck with me all this time, through all these chapters. To everyone who's left kudos here or notes on tumblr, and especially to you lovely people who've left such nice, supportive comments - thank you. You keep a writer going, never doubt it. 
> 
> And please, don't let me forget those of you who've drawn fanart of this fic! I'm still humbled by that, and beyond honoured. You can find it all (and some other interesting/inspirational stuff) on my [Finding Home](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/tagged/finding-home) tag on tumblr. 
> 
> Once more, thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for taking this journey with me, and supporting me all the way. I couldn't have done it without you.


End file.
